The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1912-02-03

 laughed shall l explain here. mon sieurI Re wise. Go to Italy. all of you This time you OverrPachPd. Mon Sieur le Due. Your ballet dancers must waiti'' And. with rare fnSnIence. Nj Ferraud showed his back to his au dience. climbed to the seat by the driv CT and bade him return slowly to the Grand hotel
 Hidegarde refused to see any one but NJ FPrr5Iud Hour after hour she sat by the bed of the injured man. Knowing tha: in all proba bility he would live, she was happy for the first time In years. He needed her: alone. broken. wrecked among his dreams. he ne, d her He had recovered con sciouSness almost at once. and his first words were d curse on the man who had aimed so badly He could talk but little. but he declared that he would rip the bandages If they did not prop his pillows so he could see the bay The second time he woke he sa W Hil- degarde. She smiled brokenly, but he turned his head aside
 Has the yacht gone yetT' .' "No"
 'When will it sail?"
 Tomorrow Her heart swelled with bitter pain. The woman he loved would be on that yacht But toward Laura she held nothing but kindness tinged with wondering envy. Was not she. Hildegarde. as beautifuI? Had Laura more talents than she. more ac complishmpnts: Alas. yes. one! She had had the unconscious power of making this man love her
 To and fro she waved the fan. For
 
 And when NJ Ferraud said that the others wished to say farewell she de cIinpd She ;.olIid look none of them in the face again. nor did she care She was sorry for Cathpwe. His life would be as broken as hers. hut man has the world under his feet, scenes of action. changes to sOothe his hurt. A woman has little else but her needle All through the day and all through the night she remained on guard. sur rendering her vigil only to NJ. Ferraud With rOId cloths she kept down the fe- yer. wfping the not face and hands He would pull through the surgeon said. but ne would have his nurse tO thank There was something about the man the dOrtOr did not under stand. He acted as if he did not care to live.
 The morning found her still at her post. BreitHann awOke early and ap- peared to take little interest in his surroundings
 Why do yo1 waste your timeT' his voice was coloTiesS.
 ''I am not wasting my time. Karl" His head rolled slowly over on the pillow till he could see outside. Only two or three fishing bouts were visi- ble.
 When will the yacht sailT'
 Always that question. (io to sleep will wake you when 1 see it.
 i've been sroundreI. Hildegarde:" and he closed his eyes.
 Where would she go when he lert this roomf For the future was al- ways rising up with this question What would she dor How would she live? She too shut her eyes.
 The door opened. The visitor vas Nj. Ferraud He touched his lips with a finger and stole toward the bed.
 "Better2''
 She nodded.
 ''Are you not dead for sleep2''
 ''1t does not matter"
 Breitmann's eyes opened. for his DIsllQ was WlQe dWahe. ''Yes. They wished me to say good by for them
 gro meY incredulously.
 '"They have none but good wishes" 'She will never know?'-
 ''NOt unless Mir. Fitzgerald tells her" "HildeGarde. l had planned her ab- duction Don't misunderstood. have sunk low indeed. but not so low as that. I wanted to harry them. They would have left me free She was 10 be a pawn. 1 shouldn't have hurt her"
 You do not care to return to Ger. many?"
 'fNOr to France. NJ Ferraud.''
 ''There's wide world outside. You will nnd room enough" difidently.
 "An Outlaw?"
 "Of q kind"
 "Be easy. haven't even the wish to be buried there. There is more to the story. more than you know. My name is Herman Stuler-if 1 live There Is not a drop of French blood in