Evening star., 1925-09-20

| " tSoi " DIS, WITHOUT quarter
lie took hasty backward step
But the Latin laid restraining hant
on her trembling ones and drew w
another chair.
That one. m'sieu-it is for him.
he explained.
Martin offered apology She mus
torSlVe-he had not thought! Shit
;ank back, all her old Indifference re
turning. He noticed that the fingers
tumbling with her cigaret had ragged
nails, roughened tips. The coat sleeve
above trailed threads.
he experienced a sudden yearnins
TO make things easier for her-men
tally, physically-without a though
OF himself. To tear her from a tragic
past and plant her where she be
longed. in the glorious present.
"Mademoiselle," he stumbled, meas
| uring his words 3s he did their ac
cent. I've seen you every night fol
more taan week. l know your stor!
from Goureau. VIII you pardon me
for asking some personal questions?'
She turned to him without openins
her lips.
Have you-do you-are you alway.
supplied" he paused.
How the deuce to discover how she
was fixed without appearing an in
solent dog?
You want to know, monsieur" she
filled in with her familiar. abrupt
manner, III I have enough to eat
when Pere Goureau does not give it
to me?"
! Her voice was as dark as her eyes
1t had the depth of many tears.
No" she added, Il do not. But 1t
does not natter
| But you are SO young" Stone pro-
tested staring at those pathetic. torn
nails. "All your life before YOU"
THAT is an error monsieur She
gazed straight ahead. 'All my life is
behind me-"
Surely one of your temperament
can't believe that the future holds
nothing for you?"
ut holds one thing" She indicated
the place opposite. II wait-for him. y
| You wait--like this-for death?"
1T will be life-with him."
A pause. Then match scratched
harshly across the table and her lips
closed on the eternal cigarette.
IT swept over Stone like a deluge
that he must save this girl from
| herself-rouse her from this coma of
memories in which she must eventu
ally drift to suicide or. worse, the
madhouse. Surely there must be
some way to accomplish 1t.
"Mademoiselle," he plunged ahead
Twill you do me the honor to dine
with me tomorrow night-?'
| She Strengthened rigidly--her whole
| face going hard.
Il dine-only with one, monsieur
/ she said softly.
Then grant me the pleasure of
sitting where / am and having a few
words with you. I'm an intruder. I
know-but I should like to learn
something more about Montmartre,
and there must be lot you can tell
me-"
Monsieur is interested in this
| quarter?"
Tremendously
1T was very gay once. When /
danced The deep-spoken words
trailed away like the wall of the
violin.
"Yes-when you danced-that's
what l want to hear about
1T was SO different them In a
moment she was etching a word-pic-
ture in vivid French. half of which
he could not understand.
The following night he waited
! shaken with the fear that she would
disappoint him. She came late. He
dined at the next table, then drew his
chair over to hers. She spoke from
time to time, but her mood of the
night before was gone. She seemed
less conscious of him than of that
empty chair. So much so that Stone
felt that it was actually occupied.
When the meal was finished. she
got up. Without word or glance in
his direction, she left the room.
Martin Stone did not rest much
those nights. He tossed on the sea
of sleep. trying 10 steer in some safe
direction toward the girls future.
During their strange dinners to-
gether, he and she and that empty
place, he could make her talk of the
past impersonally, but never of its
relation to herself.
He gathered, however. that she had
loved beauty. Thus her love for the
poet. Vivid color, the purple Of an
iris, the Springtime gold and green OF
countryside, the splash of red across
the sky left by the dying sun-her
| poet had taught her to see them all
He had brought into her life the sons
of romance.
If only he, Martin Stone, could
cause to grow once more-color beau
| ty in the arid waste! Was there some
way to transplant her from the scene
of her tragedy? To pull her back; tc
| be the benefactor of one so near the
borderland; to see that mobile face
| glow creamy white and young with
new life-what real satisfaction tina,
| would give a man.
| 1t was late in the season and Stone
had intended going by airplane tc
| London, picking up at Southampton
| the boat on which the three musket
eers of the dollar had booked passage
for home. But he changed his plans
| taking care, however, that Burbeck
| and Gallagher did not know 1t.
| That gave him freedom to haunt LIE
Coin unobserved. At least, he thought
| it did.
CLIPPING into a shadowed place one
~ night when Goureau warned him
she could not be approached-she was
| in a mood!-he found his answer
Some gesture of hers gave him the
key.
He saw it all-those queer. long eyes
alight as they met new sights instead
| of ghosts; that vivid mouth relaxing
| the Henner-like skin cleaning green
ish white above black satin: the short
hair sleeked back; the small ears
weighted with glittering drops; the
finger-tips polished to points that glist
ened. What a figure! Not barbaric
but ra-modern, smoothly mysteri
Gus. moving over heavy velvet rugs
speaking not word of English. back
grounded by the sophisticated beauty
she would love. Diane, a model-and
a perfect one! But of greater moment
Diane, a woman revivified.
BIT it said for Martin Stone that the
! plan was sublimely altruistic-how
! ever much he might eventually bene
| fit commercially.
He ventured upon the subject the
| next time they sat side by side.
"MademoiSelle - have you ever
| thought you might like to visit New