The Denison review. [volume] (Denison, Iowa) 1867-current, 1904-02-03
"'But then,' she said, the chain will

De SOLD.
q held out strongly. She looked
GROSSLY at me-
THAT evening, she whispered in my
ear: 1T was only a craving; the desire
is already gone!' She intimated to me
the cause of her erratic impulse, and the
thought of her being satisfied without it
filled me with great joy. My first i'm
pulse was to rush to the jewelers. and
bring her the covetedj chain. Then ]
reflected that the money would be need
ed in the house; and, moreover, she had
confessed that she was no longer anxious
for the chain.
THE same night Jeanne became sud-
denly i'll. l hastily summoned physi-
clan. In the delirium of her agony.
Jeanne often repeated these words:
The chain, the chain!'
Il bitterly reproached myself for not
having yielded to her last desire.
s'The next day placed in her hands
the gold chain, and then passed it around
her neck. Her fingers touched it, she
clasped it to her, it seemed to me she
smiled
You will recover murmured to
her. But she could no longer hear me-
she had just expired the pendant flash
ing on her bosom
TT IL useless for me to tell you of my
despair. l wanted Jeanne inferred with
the chain, the last ornament l was able
to give her. Her body, which was placed
in silk-lined coffin, was deposited pro-
visionally in local cemetery until it
could be transported to its definite rest
ing place in my native city of Bordeaux,
where | had purchased vault and a
monument to perpetuate my beloved
ones memory.
Months passed by. spent my days
in Jeanne's room, surrounded by her
souvenirs, conversing with her shadow
Sometimes 1 would open the jewell
casket Like so many loving glances,
the precious stones seemed to regard me
from their varying angles. One day it
happened that a hidden spring gave way
under the involuntary pressure of my
finger. In little secret drawer bum
die of papers was hidden away. drew
them out to the light of day-a strange
collection of letters and kilograms. The
writing was in many different hands;
there were no signatures, not even an in
itial. But the text was uniform. There
Were declarations of love, notes to ar
range secret meetings, and offers OF
money or presents And then | realized
that Jeanne, the candid, the innocent
Jeanne, had betrayed me odiously, in
the most repugnant fashion
Il remember that | cried all night.
trembled with fury and hate | wanted
to kill, but whom? l damned destiny
and my own helplessness. Then burned
all those anonymous papers. l sold the
jewels, left the apartment where l had
lived with Jeanne, and allowed my afro
cious grief to wear off in blunt silence, in
forgetfulness. Yes l believed l could
forget.
But, some months later, I was adj
vised by the authorities that the tempo
rary concession permitting my wife's
body to rest in the local cemetery had
ceased. My directions for the transfer of
the body Of Jeanne, I was told, were
awaited. was to be present at the re-
moval of the body SO that might iden-
tify it.
When the coffin was opened, avert
ed my eyes. Lies and decay l said to
myself. Jeanne was but lie and now
do not wish to see what has become of
her flesh But in spite of me, my eyes
filled with tears, and involuntarily some
feeling of sweet dizziness attracted me
toward the open grave.
'"A sudden cry frightened me- Hor-
rible! Horrible!' remarked one of the
assistants.
in my turn l leaned over the coffin.
And then l saw. Oh! the
abominable vision. looked
fixedly, as if discerned nothing. An in
slant later fell upon my knees, sobbing:
The strumpet, she melted out her own
justice!'
Then l lost consciousness. When l
awoke found myselfin hospital ward.
What had | seen? Why, the golden
chain was entwined in the clenched
hands of Jeanne; her extended arms had
frightened with all their force; the pen
dant was incrusted in the vertebra of
the neck. Jeanne had been buried alive.
She had strangled herself with the
coveted chain, my supreme gift.
care you convinced now" asked Rog-
er Wallet, as he noted the effect of his
storys on his various listeners. did
not destiny avenge me we'll? Too we'll, l
sometimes think. would have been less
cruel, for | have long since pardoned
her. And if have harmed any one, l
pray God that he may be indulgent.'-
Adapted from the French of Robert
Scheffer by Herbert Peters.
Clock Plant.