The progress., 1904-07-02


| had wisely calculated that hard
working music teacher would probably
be glad to retire early after the IA
tigues OF an arduous days work. Yes,
Mile. Valerie and her grayed brother
had retired and were evidently fast
asleep, SO l lowered the lights and,
drawing a green leather Morris chair
out on the veranda, settled down for
comfortable smoke and quiet hour
of musing while watching the stars
come out, and silvering by the crescent
moon of the quaint gables, the SCROLL
work of the iron balconies and the
dormer of the old-fashioned houses
around in this almost forgotten part
Of the city.
A sweet mezzo voice began singing
| first one thing and then another in low
tones, so as not to disturb others with
not only an extremely artistic inter-
probation, but a training altogether un-
usual.
1t was delightful Who could she
be? l drew breath of pleased regret
when the closing door of nearby
balcony told me the singer had gone
in for the night.
A queer idea struck me- That voice
in its vibrating rich simplicity and
with its warm timbre, matched the
girl-face l had seen in the morning,
and~which l was free to admit had
been with me pretty much all day.
Yes, the girl with the Furnished
hair and gray eyes ought to sing or
play the violin one or the other And
her voice would be that of my mysteri-
GUS neighbor. Fresh, rich and sweet
with that pathetic ring which nature
only occasionally gives to her prime
| favorites.
1t was silly, but having renewed my
tactics the next day and Mile. Valeries
scales, l suppose out on the balcony
(having refused Mrs. Sidney BANNER
ans theater party and supper after
ward, thereby much offending that i'm
perious social leader) in the hope of
again hearing some chansonette, or old
| German lied, sung in prime rich
voice, l was beginning to think unin-
vitable.
Five days slipped by and not once
was | afflicted with Mile. Valerie's
music.
En- revanche, quite unknown to the
songstress, often had a nightly con-
cert all to myself which l would not
have given up for any consideration.
Sometimes mans voice, refrained
and gentle. would ask for some special
air, and sometimes would hear them
chatting together, and gay, bright,
feminine laughter, which was as mu-
steal as her songs.
81 have changed my mind, Nine. Eu-
genie; will not give up my rooms, but
will stay the year out. am not at all
annoyed by Mile. Valeries music" I
said finally to my landlady.
She gave me rather quizzical look,
and answered demurely. "Bien, mon
sieur."
May was upon us with its buds and
flowers and the old French part of
town was alive with little yelled fig
ures. The children making their first
communion trooping to the various
churches and notably the st. Louis
cathedral, whose square in front of the
ancient towers and belfry was one mass
of odorous bloom.
came home one day. driven thither
by slight indisposition, languid
spring fever, which required dark
ened room, and the cool quiet of the
quarter where the nearest car line was
block away, and no jangling cotton
floats or drays ever Jared the silence
Of the clean. ill-paved street.
My man Harris served dinner, which
thought vast improvement on that
of the club in which l had INDUCED for
the past ten months, and stretched out
comfortably on sofa and with cigars
close at hand fell to dreaming of the
sweet girl face saw that afternoon,
now long ago.
Why had | not seized the opportunity
fate so obviously thrust upon me?
Why had been such senseless fool
as to let her sweet vision slip in and
out of my life? Why had sat supine-
ly watching the dainty figure. graceful
and erect, until ii was lost to view?
Why, ah why?
just as l reached this point in my
mental interrogations, which were
grown familiar for being constantly
gone over, Schumann's inimitable
"Why?' drifted over to me from my
neighbor's room.
The fingers playing it we're firm and
light, and the touch was that of
finished musician.
No old maid, aloof from the longing
capable of bringing out Schumanu's
yearning cry, Why, Why, Why?" with
such pathos and intensity.
1t was some strong soul who knew
the meaning of that pleading call, and
to whom Schumann's cry was a-famil
lar wall.
1t answered my strange mood so per-
fectly that l arose and stood listening
till the last notes died out, with its
pathetic cry. "Why?"
It was. of course, most unconvention-
al, and I would not even attempt to
palliate my rudeness by inventing any
excuse.
simply knocked at the door, and
when a sweet, mellow voice said Come
in" I obeyed, and stood in the small
parlor. largely filled with an Erard.
still vibrating with Schumann's divine
melody.
stood still, incapable of saying a
word. my IS years of worldly knowl-
edge not aiding me in the least.
She sprang up. and quick flush of
recognition made her very lovely.
II never dawned on me to excuse my
self. I had brought the answer.
Il have been looking for you the
world over. have asked myself that