Detroit evening times. (Detroit, Mich) 1921-1958, 1941-06-01

Yet the danger did not come from grand'mere.
l don't know how to tell what happened next 1t
was terrible. It brought an aching grief l
nsver have quite outlived. The very night grand
mere and returned to our chateau in Touralne,
Henri came down to us from Paris. We walked
again along the path by the formal garden, where
now in midsummer the roses were still blooming.
He led me along, my hand in his big, kind, warm
hand, and chartered to him of my first ball and
told him how nobody there could hold candle to
him Then he had smiled and squeezed my hand
and kissed my forehead and been strangely silent.
Later when we returned to the salon, step
ping in through the long windows opened to the
terrace, Henri had spoken to my father
would papa lend him pistol for day or
So He was going home to his aunt He must ride
his horse up through the park at Raincey. And
there had been hold-up in the park last week
He thought it best to go armed, II papa had
pistol to lend"
But certainly" my father said. He gave Henri
pistol he carried when coming home through our
park late at night. I stood there with them, as
Henri expertly, tucked the pistol in his pocket.
BE careful Of that thing" whispered, as he
kissed my forehead at the door,
He smiled ooh, that? But have handled
pistols since was boy of twelve"
Eyes" said, "of course. You know all about
these things"
mot ALL" he pinched my cheek, "but know
enough perhaps"
Then he had kissed me again. And upstairs
the sweetness that drifted up to me from the
garden, thanking the Bon Dieu that had found
him. Henri, my first love- And that Henri had
found me- And so 1 slipped off to sleep.
But when l came down to breakfast in the
morning all the world had changed for me- l
knew by my fathers face. Maman and grand
mere were breakfasting in bed, according to their
custom. But l had slipped down to share my
fathers solitary breakfast, as he loved to have
me. He looked towards me- as l crossed the
threshold into the morning room. And there was
that in his look which froze my heart went
and sat down opposite him quickly, for felt weak.
heard myself saying, in voice which frightened
my heart
Something has happened to Henri :"
He was merciful and he did not temporize
"He is dead" said my father"
clasped my hands tightly upon my heart.
With gray voice said:
But how can Henri be dead? He was alive
last night"
''He killed himself" said my father with the
revolver gave him last night, he killed himself"
His head was bowed above his hands. knew
how he was accusing himself
"But why did Henri kill HIMSELF" l finally
found courage to ask my father
He shook his head. Oh, the why was not what
a careful French father could tell his little daugh
ter Nor did he ever tell me- Yet 1 found out,
piecemeal, through servants. Henri had got into
more than his share of young mans scrapes in
Paris. He had lost much money, signed rash
papers, brought on himself and his devoted aunt
a ruin he could not face. And so-poor Henri had
not faced them.
Then, as a very young girl, l got another
glimpse into the system. l saw it with hard and
Judging eyes. And something, l realized, was
wrong with the world we French offered our young
men, that young like Henri could come to
such tragedy and bring such tragedy to me. But
what was wrong, or why, was then too young to
know.
Then my grandmother went off on her yearly
visit to Russia. She had a house in Petersburg,
where she lived part of each year and looked
over her Russian investments. saw her go with
relief. Now 1 would be spared one pair of loving,
watching eyes. But not for long, it seemed. Soon
a letter came back. She wished me to spend the
Winter with her in ST. Petersburg. 1t was not
good, she said for young girl to be so sad
needed change
/ went 1t was nothing. Nothing mattered.
cd on