San Antonio light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1911-1993, 1926-01-10

banns must be published.
But it was mot in the cards
that | should marry that man for
many years. Two days later luck
Tor fate) remembered that ! was
thirteenth child, and interviewed.
We were staying at the Hotel
Palace, on the Champs Elysees, an
expensive place that no longer
exists. Americans who were in
Paris during the war will remem-
Der that it was taken over by the
Quartermaster Corps of the Ameri-
can Expeditionary Force, and now
has become bank.
was sitting alone in my room.
brooding. Feelings that had long
disturbed me were crystallizing
into definite thoughts. 1t became
al. at once clear to me that
Durieux would not do. could not
be happy with him long. In fact,
] was suddenly determined to be
free from him. To do this | merely
had to walk out of the door, for
we were not married and neither
had any claims on the other.
Nevertheless, this made me all the
more anxious to marry him, so that
instead of just walking out ! could
divorce him. This would give me
clear-cut, respectable ending to our
association. One of the most valu-
able things about marriage is the
privilege of divorce.
Opportunity comes to every
woman" my mother used to say,
"but she rarely recognizes it," !
was thinking of this when my little
mantel clock got out of order.
struck thirteen and stopped. This
was something / had never heard
of happening before, and it reused
a superstitious feeling. Footsteps
sounded in the hall, and | told my
self that if they came to my door
it was opportunity, and ] would
grasp it.
1t was the chasseur to tell me
that a woman was downstairs to
see me on an important matter.
Her name was Lacroix, similar to
mine. Madame Lacroix reminded
me of the old woman on the boat.
She was younger, but had that
same beaming smile have since
learned to hate. Right then, be-
fore a word was said, | knew in
nv heart what sort of PROPOSE
tion it would be, and yet | sat
down to listen to it.
She confessed that she. had
merely sent up the name of La
croix to interest me, and that she
was really Madame Moline, wife of
a jeweler in the Rue de la Paix.
At last she came down to business.
1t seems that a great, truly great,
parsonage had noticed me. He was
so great that it would be indiscreet
TO breathe his name. ] was going
10 refuse with scornfull' virtuous
words that are such pleasure to
utter. when she added:
"The parsonage must first see
you and determine whether he
really is interested in you or not"
She had turned on me the dead
ly gun of curiosity and given me
both barrels. ! wanted, of course,
TO know who the great man was
who had noticed, but ] simply had
10 find out whether, on closer OBJ
servation, he would want me. That
question unanswered would torture
me to my dying day. There was
only one way to find out, so !
agreed. 1t was safe enough. too,
for Nine. Moline was not a white
SLAYER" in the same sense as the
old woman of the boat. She was
a different kind of smiler, using
only persuasion. You could refuse
if you wished.
The next afternoon, while Du-
rieux was at the race track, ] called
at Madame'5 house in the Rue
Lord Byron, and was received as
if / were a parsonage myself. The
servant who opened the door
seemed to know who ! was, and
without asking any questions con
Quoted me 10 the salon, where he
stood beside the door, bowling
deeply as ! entered. / was stunned
because ! had Just heard some one
say, Your Majesty"
No American can quite appre-
ciate my feelings, because Ameri-
cans have never had kings. You
look upon a king as sort of old
fashioned equivalent Of a Presi-
dent, a figurehead that ought to be
abolished. So he is, and we Euro
peans all know it, but from baby
hood we have all Travelled miles
and stood hours in the rain just to
catch a glimpse Of a royal face 81
it flashes by Us in its carriage or
car.
We know perfectly well that
they are just human beings, and,
in some cases, rather dull ones, and
yet we can't help surrounding a
king with = sort Of divine halo. /
don't think / would have been any