Watertown republican. [volume] (Watertown, Wis.) 1860-1906, 1906-03-07
HIS GREAT SORROW.

W at you say ?-hostled.'
Our American slang had always been
a source of wonderment to him and he
used it with the same enjoyment per-
sonally that it produced on his auditors.
But the other letter, Andre? said L,
noticing that he tucked a second nllSSIye
slyly aside
He blushed like schoolgirl as he re-
Piled ''Zat Use from my Yvonne, but
open it not till re fine ampulla feenlshed
and success is mine"
Andre de Beaumont's pottery and
plaster work had been the fashion ever
since our women's club made him fad
by taking up both himself and his work.
An Alsatian, having come to our city
a few years before after most roman
tic life of adventure all over the world
In far-off Alsace he had left peasant
sweetheart, one Yvonne st. Romier,
whom he was to claim when fortune ia
vored him! But the silver threads We're
showing now in Andres dark hair and
the time was not yet come.
My brother Paul conceived a great lk-
ing for Andre, from the very hrst and
had him often at our house, where we
spent many pleasant hours, entertained
by Andres playing and singing OF the
songs of his people.
At present he was engag ed in expert
menting on marvellous green-tinted
ampulla, which if a success means his
fortune, and, being one of his. Oldest
friends, l was to be the first to view the
wonder, now cooling in the pottery kiln.
Together we went into the workshop
where the kiln stood, and Andre began
breaking down the plaster that held the
brick door. At last it fell, a crumbled
mass, under his steady blows, but he
seemed afraid to look within; success
might still be as far away as ever.
. 7 laid my hand on his arm ''(Dura
mon ami" | said.
Reaching down he drew out the vase.
almost revently, gazing speechlessly at
its beauty and perfect green coloring
with streaming eyes. Success was An
dreS portion at last.
With a bound he was back in the
front shop with YvOnne's letter IN his
trembling fingers.
He had read but a line when his face
grew deathly white and he crushed the
letter into my hand.
Mon Dieu. ma 'mselle!' he cried.
fell into the chair before the fire, bury
ing his face in his hands.
Poor 1vonne, her neighbor wrote. worn
out with long waiting, hoping against
hope. had died with Andres name on
her lips, blessing and commencing him
to the Blessed Virgin with her last
breath. n
y
grown q feeble old man in the past few
moments, as he tottered toward the
workshop
Pausing before the beautiful ampulla
he raised his hand and would have
struck it to the floor had | not grasped
his arm.
Andrea | screamed.
"Ah mann selle'' he said gently,
wat is zere now Eat should live when
Yvonne she hat gomez"
andre dear friend!' I cried, kneeling
beside him on the dusty floor and grasp
ing his arm, this great sorrow must not
crush you, when at last after years of
work and self-sacritice success is on your
grasp. Let it be an influence in your life
for good, that it's bitterness may leaven
your whole future life work. If Yvonne
could speak to you now | am sure she
would advise you as | am DOING
I could not see his face, but his great
frame shook with sobs.
Dear Andre" | continued, ''you and
I are entering life's afternoon, but I
loved and lost once like you. He sailed
away while I awaited his return, till one
Christmas eve, nearly twenty years ago.
[ learned, just as you have done, that
he was killed far away on the other side
of the world [ have never loved since
or married, for my heart lies buried in
far-off Japan; but my great loss taught
me life's secret-to live for others hap
piness, making their lives so complete
that no one can fill your place, when the
time comes to leave all earthly things
behind"
He pressed my hand but made no re-
ply.
I'VE sail for Jamaica next week. Paul
and |. Come with us, cheer ami, and
among new scenes and people begin your
life anew"
The room was dark now except for
the light of the blazing logs, and
lighted the lamp and drew the curtains
across the windows. Outside the crisp
winter air was full of holiday cheer, the
voices of merry shoppers and clank and
din of the street coming softly to our
ears.
Come tomorrow mann selle," he said
at last land you shall hat my answer"
Seeing he wished to be alone L babe
him good night and went away, leaving
him alone with his great sorrow.
On the next day it was nearl y noon
before Paul and [ reached Andres shop
A light snow had fallen, making every
| thing look cold and cherries about the
place The curtains of the front room
were tightly drawn, the lamp burned
dimly on the table while only the
charred logs remained in the little ire
place.
We called Andres name. but the echo
Of our voices was the only reply, so we
hurried into the work shop in the rear.
Andre was there kneeling before the
empty kiln, against which his arms rest
ed supporting his head. Clasped in his
hands were the letter Of death and the
little wooden crucifiX, the gift of
YvOnne long ago, while the beautiful am
pulla, the crown of his worldly ambition.
ay about him crushed into a thousand
fragments.
Paul drew me back gently.
I'VE sail alone, Minna,' lie said.
Poor Andre has gone
1t was all too true Just as success
nd happiness were in his grasp, though.
ar from home in foreign land, Andre
brit was wandering with Yvonne in the
unlit valleys of the beautiful Rhine.