Woman's enterprise., 1922-10-27
the sancitity Of her vocation. All this

r l avoided my study for several day
at the hour l was accustomed to VOL
ship the sanity visitant Of the gal
den, only at he end of he time t
watch for her coming with intens
, nerves; and when she came to hun
grily note the change in her face, fo
she seemed to grow paler and thinne
each day. After time, determine
to go away for months, perhaps, fo
! ever. l began putting my affairs il
order, and planning the accomplish
ment of that duty I considered i'm
operative, before l left-that of dis
|posfng of the skeleton of Jean Dal
court.
1t was October, and the gray, time
eaten walls Of the old St. Louis Gem
etery were a coronet of gold. Th'
mausoleums, where the virtues of tn
Spanish grandees and French Poten
itates were set forth on imperishabl'
ibronze tablets, seemed to wear {
halo Of glory, for the golden rod hae
gained a foothold in every crevice
and taken root in the mould and dus'
that lay heavy upon all things, in ane
about that old burial ground. The
yellow plumes Haunted themselves
among the memorial urns and broker
columns, and nodded at the trees that
filled down Claiborne Street.
1t was difficult to realize that the
aged cemetery, with its low twitter Of
birds, hum Of insects, with its golden
rod, purple furze and waving field
grasses, lay in the very heart of the
City. In the hush and serenity Of
this place, one forgot the tide Of
traffic pounding against its outer
gates, and breaking against the gray
old walls-the shrill call of cem-
merce; the rush Of busy feet sound
ed faint and far away, as l trod the
streets Of the miniature city, where
the populace sleeps, instead of wax
ing. I was absorbed in a prospect,
that scarcely seemed feasible, but
hoped to decide on something that
would rid me of "Cassius." The old
sexton lounged on a bench near the
|gate in October sunshine, and in re-
sponse to my inquiry, he rose to &C.
company me, saying: "There are
many Dalcourts buried here. It was
Ia great family, but this one, let me
see. Was it old Henri Dalcourt's
SOM" l do not know, but Jean Dal-
court was young man. Perhaps
you remember hearing Of his being
killed in a duel,' returned with a
guilty feeling. Eyes, yes," he as
|sented, II know well. I remember
what a grand funeral it was. It is
eight years ago, is it not? I have
been here twenty years. remember
the last time the Dalcourt's tomb was
opened, it was eight years ago." he
said reAective1y. He paused before
Ia handsome mausoleum that had once
been white marble, but now partook
Of the gray hue Of everything else
in this old place. Through the center
"a corridor ran, arched overhead, ard
on each side Of the corridor, carved
slabs showed where generations Of
Dalcourts slept, grand old race,
that had never been touched with dis
honor, until the last scion had been
gathered to his fathers. Perhaps,
after all his exile from this spot fol
eight years, was but just retribu-
ton for his last folly in life! How
strange I should be appointed to re-
store him to his legitimate home,
here among his dead and gone ances.
tors, when l had not known his liv-
ing. All these thoughts passed
through my mind as read the in
scription on his tomb.
"This place." said the sexton
touching the compartment adjoining
the one on which my interest was
centered, "is empty" I noticed for
the first time there was no name upon
lit. 1T was reserved for the young
lady that he was to have married.
she wished It kept for her-but it is
eight years since then, and she did
not die of a broken heart, 80 it is moi
likely that she will be brought here,
and laughing at his phastly joke, ht
left me.
No, he was not one to aid in tht
work before me. I must do it alone
/ tried to move the slab Of the empt.
vault reserved for Adele Breaux, bu
it was cemented, as were the rest
and there was but one thing left II
ldo, and I would do it tomorrow, be
fore I left New Orleans. I woul'
lbring the ekeleton here, and leave j
in the corridor, with written &C
count how it came into my possession
1 ~ s&Sv 1RYV$H ~