The Montgomery advertiser., 1906-01-23
Our Daily Sbcrt Story

Vdlnty to discover the singers race in the shadowy. protean forms which l foated lazily upward.
 On one of his rare visits to Cas- | pard's. where the old crowd was sit- i ting at the familiar table in the cor ner, the conversation reverted to | the inevitable topic of the singer at | the Alhambra, and speculation as to | her appearance.
 she's short and fat said Jimmy Marvin. "and her breath smells of I garlic and beer"
 I That's a lie" responded D'A1bert l quietly And then with an absent
 expression. like one In a trance, he I continued:
 'she is tall and willowy. with the | grace of a tigress. Her hair is black | --jet black--and she wears 1t parted | and 1t is worn low. Her skin is olive and her eyes large and dark. capable I of expressing infinite love and Dit terest hatred. Her nose is plastic; I her mouth quite large. >and almost | sensual She is something like Des- I mond's Slave Girl
 I But the model for that was Bet | tina La Pierre, the octoroon from | New Orleans" said Marvin. Per
 haps your stinging lady Is also of the dusky race"
 D'Albert turned upon him with | naSnl0k bitterly and instinctively. For monnent Marvin stared. Then he laughed indulgently at his friends vagaries, and bought him an absinthe "a habit he had acquired in the old days of the Quartier.
 aBettina La Pierre is all right" Marvin remarked later. "She is said to be the most beautiful and the most exemplary woman in New York She ! a. Aoa al blood has wrecked her life.
 Soon after this. D'Albert, seeking an outlet for his pent-up infatuation, commenced writing letters to this woman he had created from his brain. Burning. passionate letters they werd, revealing the very soul of the once cynical man.
 The letters, as soon as written, were east into the flames, until one day, he wrote and posted one, unable 1 longer to endure the suspense. Dear Voice: Knowing full well the hopelessness of what 1 am doing, the ridicule am inviting, yet am writ | ing you to tell you of my love for you | Night after night I sit drinking in l your song, and am happy. And, Voice. | you have brought back to life the call | ioused heart of bad man to whom | all good seemed worse than a fatuity. ! | world you have shown me, I am alone terribly alone--and l want you to ! share 1t with me.
 1 An. do not laugh. for I am very se- | rious Please, I beg of you, send me l one little line. sthat l may at least | have hope.
 Believe me. am yours, Hugh D'Albert. Then eusued a week of feverish anxiety and waiting. He remained in | his apartments, rushing frantically out each time he heard the postman. | But no letter came.
 Then. half mad, he cast all prudence 1 to-sthe winds, and wrote every day letters so beautiful. So exalted in their | love, so heart breaking in their de- | spair as to be weli-nigh irresistible. At last an answer came; the small bdead-white envelope, with it's graceful, ! scrawling address.
 ] D,AIbert seized 1t with the frenzy of a madman, and eagerly tore It { open.
 l There were two little sheets cover | ed with hurried. closely written lines. l Hugh D'AIbert: Why do you tor | ture me?-why have you come into | my life and aroused the old hopeless
 longing and despair. just when was becoming apathetic-and when was | growing hard and careless under an | overwhelming weight of sorrow. | I see you often-tnough you do not | know 1t; and because of this-and
 your letters--I hayes come to know 1 you--aHd love you. fight against It, | as I may.
 An, but it is hopeless-worse than
 hopeless; and Lean no longer endure it-this fierce longing which can avail ! nothing. It would kill us both. I So I am coming to ynu--it Is best | for us both. There will be but one | meeting. You will find the mockefy | of it all, and speedily recover, and l well, never mind me; this dreadful
 strain will be over at least
 I will be at your studio tomorrow | at four.
 Until then, think of me still as your Voice.
 He laughed abound in an ecstacy. At
 last he was to see his Voice. What
 womAnlv scruples could endure before
 the fire of his overwheiming love' l | Al four o'clock the next afternoon,
 Hugh D'Albert sat in his atelier. The
 cold gray day was rapidly wanlns'
 but anon a stray sunbeam crept into the room, bringing out the warmth Of
 the rich crimson draperies, and md
 ing a reflection in the richly burnish-
 ed armor which adorned the walls Reclining in deep arm chalr' ne
 slept from sheer exhaustion, and
 stress of emotion. ,s
 Suddenly a slight movement in the
 roo mawoke him. He sprang to ms
 feet with a cry of joy. Standing, with head bent forward
 any eyes dowpcast,. like a Joan or
 Are, awaiting her doom, was the wom-
 an of his dreams
 Tall and willowy she vas From pa-
 trician head to tiny foot. she corre-
 snonded exactly with DAlberts con
 ception. It was truly. wonderful
 The red portiers, before which she
 stood, emphasized her brilliant Span
 ish coIoring, and the graceful lines
 of her figure in it's tight fitting black
 gown.
 "Darlingw he cried, hurrying to-
 ward her that he might the more plainly see her in the growing dusk
 As he approached she raised. her . wonderful eyes, and regarded hin with the dumb misery of beautiful