The Birmingham age-herald., 1909-01-18

him I might have found an excuse in my
 utter confusion and beWilderment, but l was given one more chance-more than deserved, l see now. During the months
 that intervened before l was in Paris again, l lived over and over that eXperi- ence, and took up and pondered some of
 the wise things and noble he had said He remained the living figure in my world.
 Every one seemed faded and unreal. It was as though l had been living in the
 dark contently, not knowing what the sunlight meant, and then had had one day of warmth and brightness. When the first star came out all those summer even
 ings it went through my heart, and the rising of the moon-I cannot see 1t yet, withered old woman that l am, without tightening of my throat
 q had plenty of time to think out what ! 1t all meant, and when in Paris the next 1. October I saw him again, l had no one
 but myself to blame for the ending. It was the day before we sailed for Amer ica and my eyes were wandering all over Paris in the foolish and romantic idea of running into him on the street. had the unreasoning feeling of the young that something must happen. And yet when, straying a moment from my party in the Louvre, I came upon him looking at my favorite Botticelli, I could only exclaim
 and blush. The months that had passed
 since the night at Dieppe vanished like smoke at the sight of his dark face. lie turned, saw me and came toward me with
 sudden spring of delight that was i echoed in my heart
 l "'Ah, mademoiselle. you smile,' he
 cried. Do you. then, allow me-may T. ! He glowed with hope. He stood close to | me now looking at me with soft, black i eyes The whole beauty and strength of ! the man shone visibly for me-for me, ] who could only say. hesitatingly and mis- erably: T am going to America tomor- ! row monsieur
 s'The news dashed out the light in his | face Yes, but before you go'-he looked ! at me mploringly-'before you go, oh,
 mademoiselle if you would but make one
 novel How dare I? You have your
 money your friends-I am so miserably
 poor-how do I know but that you think -oh! Only a wordr
 "There was a pause. He was waiting | for me. And I? The manners of my
 world hung about me like the lead man. | ties of Dante's sinners. l knew in l vague tumultuous way that a turning point had come, but with this woman's i intuition came a flood of foolish, young
 lady ideas, so inexpressibly futile and vain as I see them now l was embar-
 rassed-what could I do? l didn't even
 know his name-as though that mat
 tered! How could I introduce him to | my friends, what WOulu they tnllk ol
 my speaking to a stranger so?
 "The little, buzzng cloud of ignoble
 hesitations and doubts filled my ears so
 that the one loud call of my life was 1 drowned out. Those who rear us have
 long generations of experience In making l us cowardly and ignorant and afraid of
 our own true selves. So in the vibrating l silence, when he waited for my decision, 1 I only felt confused and incoherent em-
 barrassment, shot through with a pain
 I was to live upon from that day forward.
 I held out my hand In a lifeless way. | 'Adieu monsieur I said faintly.
 'He held my hand in his. But, mad
 emoisele-I can't let you-see, l have a
 new ideal of womanhood since l have
 seen you-I have a new ideal of humani-
 tyr His voice trembled, his dear, harsh, i uneven voice. and he looked at me!
 "But my friends came trooping down
 the hall He recognized them, and stood
 again on one side as they came up to l me They discussed Botticelli with com
 fortable denseness. and I remembered the | golden words in which monsieur had put | my own feeling for the artist. And then 1 we passed on I carried along by the slug l gish but overpowering current of respect | ability all my native strength to reach 1 out for what was mine sapped by tradi-
 tion As I last saw him he was stand
 ing staring at the floor, his hand arrested | at his temple, midway in the familiar