Evening star., 1925-01-11
Miss Bracegirdle Does Her Duty
BY STACY AUMONER.


| must of course, be the room next to
her own. So confusing, with perhaps
| 20 bedrooms all exactly alike on one
| side OF a passage-how was one to
| remember whether ones number was
! 115 or 116?
! Her mind began to wander idly
| off into her school days. She was
always very bad at figures. She dis
| liked all those subjects about angles
and equations-so unimportant, not
leading anywhere. History she liked
and botany, and reading about
| strange foreign lands, although she
| had always been too timid to visit
| them. And the lives of great people
most ascinating-Oliver Cromwell
| Lord Beaconsfleld. Lincoln. Grace
| Darling-there was a heroine for
| you. Good heavens!
Almost unwittingly. Millicent Brace
girdle had emitted violent sneeZei
1t was finished For the second time
that night she was conscious of her
heart nearly stopping. For the second
| time that night she was so paralyzed
with fear that her mentality went tc
pieces. Now she would hear the man
get out of bed. He would walk across
to the door, switch on the light, and
then lift up the frill. She could almost
| see that fierce moustached face glarine
at her and growing something in
| French. Then he would thrust out an
arm and drag her out. And then? Oh
| heaven What then? -.
! 81 shall scream before he does it
| Perhaps L had better scream now. II
| he drags me out he will clap his hand
over my mouth. Perhaps chloro-
| form"
But somehow she could not scream
She was too frightened even for that
She lifted the frill and listened. Was
he moving steathily across the carpet
She thought-no, she couldn't be sure
He might strike her from above--with
one of those heavy boots perhaps
Nothing seemed to be happening, but the
suspense was intolerable. She realized
now that she hadn't the power to en-
dure night Of 1t. Anything would be
| better than this--disgrace, imprison-
ment, even death. She would crawl
out, wake the man, and explain as
| best she could.
She would switch on the light, cough,
and say: Monsieur
Then he would start up and stare
at her.
Then she would say-what should
she say?
Pardon, monsieur mais je-" What
on earth was the French for 'T have
made mistake?"
"Jai tort. C'est la chambre-er-
| incorrect. Voulezvous-er-''
What was the French for door
knob" "let me CO.?
The resolution formed, she crawled
deliberately out at the foot of the bed.
She scrambled hastily toward the door
a perilouS journey. In a few seconds
the room was flooded with light. She
turned toward the bed, coughed, and
cried out boldly:
Monsieur"
Then, for the third time that night,
| little Miss Bracegirdle's heart all but
| stopped. In this case the climax of the
horror took longer to develop, but when
it was reached IT clouded the two other
| experiences into insignificance.
The man on the bed was dead,
She had never beheld death before
but one does not mistake death.
She stared at him bewildered. and re-
peated almost in whisper:
Monsieur, Monsieur.
Then she tip-toed toward the bed.
The hair and moustache looked extra
ordinarily black in that gray wax-like
setting. The mouth was slightly open,
and the face, which in life might have
been vicious and sensual, looked in
credibly peaceful and far away.
| When the full truth came home tc
face in her hands and murmured:
Poor fellow-poor fellow!'
x x x
DOR the moment her own position
seemed an affairs of small conse-
quence. She was in the presence of
| something greater and more all-pervad-
ing. Almost instinctively she knelt by
the bed and prayed.
For a few moments she seemed to be
possessed by an extraordinary calm
ness and detachment. The burden OF
her hotel predicament was a gossa-
mer trouble-a silly, trivial, almost
comic episode, something that could be
| explained away.
| But this mamie had lived his life,
whatever it was like, and now he was
| in the presence of his Maker. What
kind of man had he been?
Her meditations We're broken by an
abrupt sound. 1t was that of a pair OF
heavy boots being thrown down by
the door outside. She started, think
ing at first it was some one knocking or
trying to get in. She heard the boots
however. stamping away down the cor
ridor, and the realization stabbed her
with the truth of her own position
She mustn't stop there. The necessity
to get out was even more urgent.
To be found in a strange mans bed
room in the night is bad enough, but
| to be found in dead mans bedroom
was even worse. They would accuse
her of murder, perhaps. Yes, that
would be it-how could she possibly
explain to these foreigners? They
would hang her. No, guillotine her
that's what they do in France. They
would chop her head off with a grea,
steel knife. Merciful heavens! She en-
visaged herself standing blindfold by q
priest and an executioner in a red cap
like that man in the Dickens story