The Washington herald. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1906-1939, 1912-10-06
BY Kate Carew.
Paris, September "a.

Paris, September q.
Tow, II you please, we'll have a
few earnest words from the fiery,
= Y fugitive Christabel, of the Pank-
hurst clan.
In the FIRST place. dear ones, let me tell
you that she's quite safe from the police
force Of Great Britain. She can take her
food how and when she wishes, and she
can deck herself out in Paris purple and
fine linen, instead Of Holloway woollens
of no particular cut and fit and most
particular brand of discomfort.
She's a political refugee, that's what
she Is!
She told me SO herself.
And France is outwardly calamity
shielding her and inwardly wondering
what 'orrid example she'll set all the nice.
dainty, little Parisiennes who gravely dis
cuss the woman question over the palest
yellow tea in the palest pink and blue
cups.
OF course, you all know how the elusive
Christabel has lodged and ducked a police
warrant for months past and has sue
ceeded in hiding herself from the view of
the keenest eyes.
That's an old story.
Now the fancy has seized her to come
out Of her shell and reveal herself to the
press and the public of Paris.
She Just bodied up serenely in Mont
martre one fine morning and said:
Me voilaN
At first people wouldn't believe she was
really on the spot-there had been so
many false alarms about her.
WAS ALMOST oMNIPREsENT.
She had been seen in English country
villages, dozens of EN-. She had bowed
to an acquaintance on the street in Ber
lin. She had been noted driving of the
golf links near Dundee. She was on her
way to New York, and she'd even sailed
for China.
1t was almost a case of that unfortu-
nate youth who called ''wolfr' once too
often. Why. when 1t was first announced
that the elusive one was in our midst
everybody pooh poohed the idea.
And what puzzled us most Of all was
why she should come to life in Mont
martrei
You realize, my children, that Mont
martre isn't the quarter Of the English
miss Not bit of it!
Its where the prowling, predatory
Apache has his lair. It's where he meets
his fellow bandits and they plan CORY
schemes over absinthe. Even the artist
has almost abandoned Montmartre.
So Paris raised her eyebrows and
shrugged her shoulders at the news that
Christabel was there, but few trusting
souls, your Aune Kate among them, de-
cided to go and see what there was in the
story.
90 don't say l didn't have tremor or
two about a probable Apache onslaught.
and madame, the plump proprietress OF
NV hotel, didn't ease my fears; in fact,
she babe me au revoir as II for the last
time, when she learned that 1 was calling
on friends in the depths of Montmartre.
Well. it wasn't spool after all
There was Christabel herself, sitting in
the ugliest of little French parlors-the
kind of a parlor where the wall paper
screams shrewishly at the carpet, the pict-
ures are real genuine chromos and the
ornaments reminiscent of funeral urns
and natural history specimens.
Naturally, Christabel has a soul above
such trivialities, so / don't suppose she
minds that parlor any more than she
minds the swearing. laughing. bargaining
crowds OF Montmartre which surge round
s. her dwelling place all day and all night.
AN ATTRACTIVE YOUNG WOMAN.
Anyhow, there she was in that shabby.
dingy room, and ! must say she was a
pleasing specimen Of what England can
produce in the way Of bonny, wholesome
womanhood.
She was very sunburned and had a
color that made every woman within sight
look chalky pallor. Her eyes seemed
bluer and brighter than any I had seen
fnr zeeks and altneether she WAS the