The Birmingham age-herald., 1909-01-17

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 There was a major general in the East India service, Lord Peambock, killed while tiger hunting with Rajah in Singapore" who was so immensely real l to her that he had become Jacks god 1 father. In his memory she dressed her l big 7-year-old Jack In Scotch plaids and kits. Then there was the great Count de 1 Barancy of Touraine, who died in the most romantic and painful manner (with out details) in the very year of their marriage
 Sometimes she herself had been born in ''the colonies" where her parents had an army of slaves. Again, her birth would be calmly assigned to a huge chateau situated vaguely on the Loire. i Once two men of Lyons thought that they recognized in her certain young woman who had kept a glove and per fumery shop in their city; but they were convinced freezingly by her that they 1 were mistaken and had to apologize hum- i bly, for being misled by one of those confounded and awkward resemblances that occur now and then.
 At any rate, there was no doubt that l she was rich. or. rather, as the eager l geniuses discovered promptly. that she was well supplied with money. The source of that money was kindly, good natured staid man of the world whom ] Jack had been taught to call "Bon Ami." and whom he loved very much
 The Countess de Barancy was seized upon by the faculty of the Gymnase aA the little King of Dahomey had been. 1 They decided to celebrate her opportune arrival as a literary evening" which should show her what dazzling world of talent her son was to enter. Even DAT genton, the elegant D'Argenton, who looked haughtily on the stupid and unap- preciatve world, unbent and bought gloves out of the paltry remnants of the miserable allowance that his stupid old aunt sent him once month.
 From all the eccentric quarters of Paris came the failures in art, literature and architecture freezing and shivering, threadbare and solemn, all unknown and ignored, and all eager to show themselves, pose themselves, recite something, sing something to prove to themselves that they existed.
 There were poets and philosophers whose worn-out, faded wives showed what was the cost of maintaining man of genius There were others who had be- i come famous by phrase, a gesture, an ! epigram which they repeated, ever after l ward, unweariedly through the hungry 1 years. There was a gentleman who glow cred savagely, never speaking, except to mention that he had read Proudhon. | There was another who was introduced proudly as Berzelius' nephew.
 Labassindre, in gala costume, made the room tremble from time to time with ''Beuhl Beuh" trumpeting 1t forth to make sure that his wonderful note, his famous note, was all right.
 They all surrounded Ida de Barancy. | They all needed money and worship. Mor- l onval wanted to found Review for | which all the rest were to write. They | had famous ideas. Ida de Barancy was i blissfully conscious that this wonderful | monarchy of wit and art had made her l it's queen.
 Suddenly there was silence. Amaury | D'Argenton had consented to recite his l noble poem, '"The Credo of Love-" With immensely long, waxed mustaches, with 1 hair thrown back to expose an intermin- able forehead, gazing at the holdings on | the ceiling he acclaimed, pausing be- 1 tween each line to allow the exclama- tions of delight to be heard.
 Hugo but more modern, more per fectr' "Stupendousl" "Sublime!" Goethe, i but with more feeling and artr
 That poor little lnnet, the imaginary | Countess de Barancy, listened, looked and was lost From that instant he was a fatal and superhuman being to her. She | belonged to him. She had no eyes any 1 more for her little Jack, who was sending | her frantic kisses where he sat among the dusky pupils. She beheld her poet, and | him alone.
 | He received her adortng praises with l calm disdain that made her still more his helpless slave. Majestically he ac- cepted her invitation to dine in the man | sion on the Boulevard Haussmann. He even condescended to tell her his famous 1 anecdote of how he had crushed editors, l publishers, managers, who had refused to print or produce his works. This anec- dote always ended: And when said | to him these terrible words: Sir, we shall meet again And he was so vexed"
 Meantime poor little Jack cried himself
 to sleep nightly, longing for his dear,
 pretty mamma and his kind Boni Ami He
 was the admired pupil now; but he was
 very lonely, very desolate and sad. The
 scared, stolid little savages who were his
 fellow pupils had little to say and did
 not know how to play. Worse than all.
 Madou had told him how he was being
 treated and had said with gleaniing eyes:
 "Ah, if I ever be King of Dahomey,
 write kind letter to M Moronval make
 him come Dahomey, cut off his head in
 big copper basin, and make war-drum out
 of his skinr'
 Thereafter he dreamed wildly of bloody 1 heads In basins, naked savages in feather
 headdresses, and In the midst of 1t awoke
 in fright for fear that he too, would be-
 come a prisoner in the gloomy, shabby | dirty house to be beaten and kicked by
 the crazy faculty.
 One day the blow fell. A curt letter
 from D'Argenton appraised Moronval of
 the fact that the death of his aunt had
 changed his circumstances, and that he
 would act no longer as professor of lit-
 erature. Then came the news that the | house in the Boulevard Haussmann had
 been given up.
 l "cba has gona off with that be1Ra rly