Evening Star Newspaper, February 22, 1890, Page 7

J od THE EVENING STAR: WASHINGTON, D.C., SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 22, 1890-TWELVE PAGES. Wacol WAS THE HAND? BY MISS BRADDON. Author of “Lady Andley’s Secret." “Lixe and Unlike,” “Takmael," “Tho Day Will Come,” &o. acai {[4LL RIGHTS RESERVED} ——— CHAPTER XII. FLORESTAN’S MISSION. LORESTAN Iunched with Mr. and Mrs, Arden on the day after their meeting at the opera. It was the indy who gave him the invitation, He had always been a favorite of here since the time when he sold the meadow, and earlier, when he had just left Eton for the superior independence of the univermty; and fm this busy l'aris, crowded with strange faces, she had been pleased to meet with a familiar face, a face associated with the cloudless years of ber first marriage. Everything was dear to her that brought back the memory of that time. Was she happy with her second husband? No, she was not; unless gratitude and a placid submission to the decree of fate mean happi- ness. She had drifted into this second marriage Upon the strong tide of Ambrose Arden’s pas- sionate love—a love which had gathered force with exch long year of waiting, and which had become a power that no ordinary woman could Tesist. Such a passion, so exceptional in its Patient endurance, its intense concentration, Will compel love, or at least the surrender of liberty, and the submission to woman's destiny, which is, for the most purt, to belong to some one stronger than herself, She had submitted to this mastery, and she was grateful for that devoted affection which knew no wavering, which had lost none of its Fomantic intensity with the waning of the honeymoon. No woman could be heedless of such a love as this, from sucha man as Ambrose Arden, und his wife was deeply touched by his idolatry and gave him back all that a woman can give whose heart is cold as marble. Ten- derness, deference, companionship she could give, and she cave them, bet the love she had lavished on Kobert Hatreli was a fire that had burnt ont. It was not in Ambrose Arden’s power to rekindle the dame, Never since the tirst year of her widowhood red so incessantly to the d done since her second mar- er life with her daughter, they two ng of her girlish urned to her, She had become almost a girl again in adapting herself to a girl comp In her anxiety to keep the burden Of surrow of those youthfal! shoulders she had shaken off the shaduwof her own sad mem- ories, aud had given herself up to girlhood’s small pleasures and frivolous interests, But since her marriage her chief companion had been Ambrose Arden and not Daisy—a deep cioud of melancholy had come down upon her mind, The image of her first husband had become « ghost that walked beside her path aud stood beside her bed, and the memory of her happiest years had become @ haunting memory that came between her and every charm and every interest that her present life could offer. Thus it was that she had been eager to see more of Fiuresten, and had asked him to Tuacheon at th otel, This time they were at the Bristol, and it was in a saloon on the second floor, looking out Upen the Place Vendome, that they received Gilbert Florestan, Daisy beamed upon him in a white straw hat trimmed with spring flowers and a neat little Brey checked gown, made by one of those epi- fene tailors who give their minds to the em- bellishmext of the female figure. She hada bunch of lilies of the valley pinned upon -her breast, a busch which Cyril had just bought for her im the Rue Castiglione, They had g about Pari all the morning, that the great city was a vulgar, jole, yet very delighted to attend sart in her explorations and to show etything that was worth looking at. “L hope I have satiated her with churches,” he said; “we have driven all over Paris, and have gone up and down so many steps that I feel as if I had been working on the treadmill. We wound up with a scamper in Pere la Chaise.” “It was a scamper,” exclaimed Daisy. “He would hardly let me look at any of the monu- ments. They are all mixed up in my mind, a chaos of bronze and marile, classic temples and Ezyptian obelisks—Balzac, Rachel, the Russian princess who was burned to death at » ball, Desclee, ers, Abelard and Heloise. I could spend a long day roaming about in that place of names aud memories, and Cyril took te through the alicys almost at a run.” “Why should a girl want to prowl’abouta temetery, uniess she is a ghoul, and is mapping ®ut the place in order to go back there in the gight and dig?” Cyril protested with a dis- gusted air. “i would rather have to stand and Wait while you looked stall the shopsin the Bue de la Paix.” ‘The luncheon was a very lively meal, for both Cyrii and Florestan were full of talk and vivacity, and Daisy taiked as much as they iet ber, leaving Ambrose Arden and his wife free to look on and listen. They had spent their Morning together among the second-hand book shops on the Quai Voltaire, where the scholar had found two or three treasures in @xteenth century literature, and where the Scholar's wife had hunted for herself among Volumes of a lighter and more modern charac- ter, and bad selected some small additions to the carefully chosen library at River Lawn, a collection which had been growing ever since Bobert Hatreli’s death had made her in some way dependent upon books for companionship. After lunch Florestan suggested a pilgrimage to St. Denis and offered to act as cicerone, an offer which Daisy accepted eagerly, so 4 roomy carriage was ordered and Mrs.’ Arden, her daughter and the two young men set out for the resting place of royalties, leaving Ambrose free to go back to the book shops. “It isn’t a bad day for a drive,” said Cyril, as the Isudau bowled along the broad level road Outside the city, “but 1 am sorry that we are | pry to Miss Hatrell's ghoulish tastes by unting alter more graves.” There was more discussion that evening as te how long the river iawn party should re- main in Paris, They had arrived from Italy two days before, and while they were in Venice Mrs. Arden had seemed anxious to return to lsad and bad confessed herself homesick. In Parus she seemed disposed for delay, Ris a quite ee you, Clara,” said usband; “all your yearning for home Seems to have left you" sin “Iam as anvious as ever to go home, but there is something I waut to do m Paris,” “What is that?” “Ob, it is s very small matter. I would Pather not talk about it.” Ambrose looked at her wonderingly. This Was the first time since their marriage that she had refused to tel! him anything. He did Bot pressthe point, however. The matter in question might be ‘some feminine frivolity, Some business with dressmakers or milliners — it was no part of a husband's business to Ww. Later on in the evening his wife asked a ques- tion apropos wo nothing. a ‘tir. Florestan know Paris particularly = answered her. “He tells me that be knows Paris by heart endall ber works and ways. He has lived here good deal off aud on; aud now he has estab- fitiea bis peda terre in the Champs Elysees, Sud means to winter here and summer at Foun- You will have him for a neighbor, xy. Lope you are not going to mabe ine by taking too much notice of him.” He — the easy gayety of s man who oe uf ee aud who is so secure in | apemgens is sweetheart’s affection that he can afford to make a jest of the i bilities which might alarm other men. Baty aest blushed and then laughed at the sugges- 2, or mother, sister or bruther! “Nobody to happy or unhappy about! What an empty his must b: “Ob, the fe! is lucky enough. He hass old place and a good income. He is forest crank “eel See T eappone e.. Daisy offered no opinion. ‘Decidedly handsome,” said Ambrose Arden, ‘hess board at which he nightly rubber came to an end with her first husband's tragical death; but she Lary i chess nearly every evening with her second husban who was a fine player, and intensely enjoy the game. His wife played just well enough to make the game interesting, and then there was for him an unfailing delight in having her for his antagonist, the delight of wat her thoughtful face, with the var; as she deliberated upon her play: the delight of touching her now and then as it moved among the pieces; the delight of hearing her low sweet voice. This life could give him no greater joy than her companionship. It had been the end and aim of bis existence for long and patient years, dirs. Arden sent Florestan a telegram next morning asking him to call upon her as early as he could before luncheon, tier husband was going tospend his morning at the sale of a fam- ous library and she would be free to carry out an idea which she had entertained since her meeting with Florestan at the opera, Mr. Arden had not been gone more thana quarter of an hour before Florestan was an- nounced, Cyriland Daisy were sight-seeing and Mrs. Arden was alcne in the salon, SEARCHING YOR A CLUE. She was sitting near one of the windows, with her traveling desk on a tabie before her. She thanked Florestan for his prompt atten- tion to her request and motioned him toa seat on the otner side of the writing table, “I am going to ask you to do me a great favor. Mr. Florestan,” she said very seriously, “although our friendship has been so inter- rupted aud so casual that I have hardly any claim upon you.” All that was ardent and frank and generous in the man who affected cynicism was awkened by this deprecatinz appeal, and perhaps still more by the pathotic expression of the soft hazel eyes and the faint tremulousness of the lower hip. “You lowe the strongest claim,” he answered eagerly, ‘There is nothing I would not do to show myself worthy to be considered your friend. If we have not seen very much of each other we have at least been acquainted for a long time. Iremember your daughter when she was almost a bab I remeber oe He checked himself, as he was approaching a that might pain her. ou remember my husband,” she said, in- terpreting his embarrassment. “It is of him I want to talk to you. I think you are good and true, Mr. Florestan, and I am going to trust you with thesecrets of the dead. Iam going to show you some old letters—ietters written to my dear dead husband—which I would not show to anybody in this world if I did not hope that some good, some satisfaction to me and to my daughter, might come out of the light these let can give” “My dear Mrs. Arden, yon do not surely ho} that after all these years the murderer will be found through any clue that the past can af- ford?” “I don’t know what I hope, but I want to find woman who loved my husband very tenderly and traly before ever [ saw his face. She was @ friendless girl in this city, a girl who had to work for her living. but her letters are the out- come of a refined nature, and I feel a strange and melancholy interest in her. My heart yearns toward the woman who loved my hus- band in his youth and who might have been his wife but for difference of custo.” “Did your husband tell you about this youth- fal iove affair?” “He alluded to it laughingly once or twice during our happy married life; but I knew noth- ing more than that he had once been in love with a Freuch grisette, until the week before my second marriage. I had a curious fane before that great change in my life to go back upon the past.” ‘There was a grave regvetful- ness in her tone at this point which was a reve- lation to Florestan. “And I occupied myself for a whole night, when every one else in the house had gone to bed, in looking over my husband's papers. I had been through them more than once before, and had classified and arranged them as weil as I could; but [ suppose I was not very business-like in my way of doing this, for among some commonplace letters {rom old college friends I tound a little packet of letters in a woman's hand, which I had oyer- looked before.” She opened her desk as she spoke and took a small pucket of letters tied with a piece of red tape. There had been no sentimental indul- gence in the way of satin ribbon for the millin- er’s poor little letters. ‘The tape was faded and old, and it was the same piece which Robert Hatrell’s own hand had tied around them, “Please read one or two of those letters and tell me if they speak to your heart as they spoke to mine,” she said, as ahe put the packet into Florestan’s hand. He untied the tape, counted tha letters, seven in all, and then began to read the letter of earliest date, “Bue Chauve Souris, Faubourg oS 90 Antoine, May. “Tt was like @ day speat in heaven while we were together yesterday, I felt ayif it was years and years since [ had seen green fields andariver. Oh, the beautiful river, and the island where we dined. I did not think there was anything 8o lovely within an hour's jour- ney from Paris. Ah, how good it was of you to give @ poor, hard-working girl so much pleasure! have been in Paris more than a year, and no one ever showed me a glimpse of green fields until yesterday. My brother was two busy with his inventions, and there was no one else. I wonder at your goodness, that you should take so much trouble for a poor girl, and that you should not be ashamed to be seen with any one so shabby and insignificant,” ‘Three other letters followed, telling the same story of a Sunday in the environs of Paris, of the woods and the river and the rapture of be- ing with him. Gradually the pen had grown bolder and it was of love the giri wrote to her lover—a humble, confiding, romantic, girlish love, which took no thought for the morrow, asked no questions, suffered from no agonies of doubt, She wrote as if her happiness were to know no change—as if those Sunday excursions to pleasant places were to go on forever. She told im how she had gone to mass before she met him at the railway station or the steam- boat pier, and how she bad prayed for him at the altar, ‘The later letters had a more serious tone and breathed the fear that her dream must come to an end, “It has been like a dream to know you and be loved by you,” she wrote; “bat isthe dream to end in ‘kness and the long duli life that would be left for me if you were to go away and forget me? I suppose it must be so. [ have been too happy to remember that such happiness could not last. You will go back to your own country and fail in love with a young English lady and forget that you ever spent happy days on the Seine laughing and talking with your poor Toinette. You will forget the arbor on the island where we dined in the twilight, while music and singing went past us in the boats, while we sat hidden bebind vine leaves and heard everything without being seen. Oh, how sweet it was! Ishal! never see any more stars like those that shone down upon usas we came from Marly one night sit- ting side by side on a bench on the roof of the train. Ishall never see the rivor in Paris without thinking that it is the same river on which our boat has drifted, oh, #o lazily, while we have talked and forgotten everytling ex-/ cept our own faces and our own voices. All that was beautiful in the river aud the land- Scape seemed not outside us, but a part of our- selves and of our love.” ‘There was more in the same terein; but later the key changed to saddest minor. “I know you cannot marry me; indeed. I never thought or hoped to be your wife. I onl: wanted our love to go on as long as it could. wanted it togo on forever, askifg no more than to see you now aud then, once a week, once in # month even—ah, even once in a year! I could live all through « long dull year in the hope of seeing you for one biessed hour on New Year day, Is that too much to ask? You cannot guess how little would content me— thing except to lose you forever. The day wat you ceay to me, ‘Good-bye, Toinette, we shall never meet agai,” will be the day of ny death. You are the; better part of my life. cannot live without,you. Ithink of you in every hour of the day. I think of you with every stitch my needle makes in the long hours in which I sit at work. The sprig of willow you picked when we were in < last Sun- day is like « living thing to mce—as precious as if ithad asouland could sympathize with me in my love and my sorrow.” te crestan read on till the last word in the Inst ter. “Do those sad little letters touch you as they touched ine?” asked Clara. “Yes; they are pretty little letters. They are full of s tender, sentimental love which might mean much or little. There isno knowing how much reality there is in all this sentiment— Woman are actresses from their cradle, They id Clara, “and I want to know what became of this poor girl after the last letter was writ- I want to know whether she is living or name mentioned. “Yes, Colonel MacDonald heard the name. It ws Antoinette. He had heard my husband Speak of a grisette with whom he had once lover” “Do you think the girl was concerned in the murder?” ‘,The girl who wrote those letters? No, as- suredly not.” »‘There are women whose slighted love turns to remorseless hate,” said Florestan, “Not such @ woman as the writer of those let- ters. She is so humble, so unselfish; she accepts her fate in advance. No, I am sure she was a good woman. I want to find her if I to help herif she is poor and friendless, want to find her for her own sake; but still more for mine. She may beable to give the clue tothe murderer. Her name was used as a lure, and very few people can have known that Robert ever cared for that girl. The man who made that vile use of her name must have known of that old love affair. He may have been the brother of whom she writes.” ‘““My dear Mrs. Arden, would it not be wiser —in your circumstances, with new ties—a hus- band who worships you, a daughter who adores you—would it not be wiser to draw a curtain over that one dreadful scene in your life—that one terrible shock which you suffered nearly eight years ago?” “I cannot! 1 cannot forget the man I loved with all my heart and strength,” exclaimed Clara, passionately, “Do you tnink because I am married again that he is forgotten? Do you think that I have forgotten his life, which was 80 bright and happy, so full of gladness for him- self and others, or his miserable death? No, I have not forgotten! I have married a good manwhomI honor and esteem. I am ag happy as the most devcted leve can make me, but I do not forget. Ever since I found those letters I have been brooding over the ssibility of the murderer being discovered by that woman's agency.” “Do you think thatif her brother was the murderer she would betray him?” “think she would no more have forgiven his murderer than I have—even if he is her brothe: e would hardly put a rope round his erhaps not, Only find her for me, if you can, Mr. Florestan, and I shall be deeply grate- ful. You who know Paris so well, and who are living here, may have opportunities.” “If she is to be found I will find her, But these letters were written more than twelve years ago, and the cleverest police agent in Paris might fail in tracing her after such an interval. Remember, we do not even know her surname, The letters have only one signature ‘Toinette,” “There is the address of the house in which she lived,” eae is the only clue. We must begin upon at.” “You are very good. You can understand, perhaps, why I appeul to you instead of to my husband. In the first place he isa dreamer and thinker rather than aman of action. He kuows very little of Parisian life, and he would not know how to set to work. And in the sec- ond place it might wound him to know that my mind has been dwelling upon the past.” “I understand perfectly. I conclude that you have told him nothing about these letters?” “Not a word.” : “There is one circumstance connected with your husband's death which has always mysti- fied me,” said Florestan, after a thoughtful pause. “How came the murderer, a foreigner and altogether unconnected with your hus- band’s lite at Lamford, to be so well informed about his plans—to know that on such a day and at such an hour he would be on his way to Lincoln's inn with a large sum of money upon his person? The man’s plans had evidently been made some days in advance—the lodging was taken with one deadly intent. The woman who acted as an accomplice must have been taught her part in advance; the flight to the Riviera with the money must have been delib- erately thought out, for there was not an hour lost in the disposal of the notes, A little hesi- tation, a few hours’ delay, and the police would have been able to track the plunder. Every- thing was arranged and carried out with a dia- bolical precision which argues foreknowledge.” “Ihave puzzled over the same question till my brain has reeled,” answered Clara. “Some one must have given the information—one of our servants—a lawyer's clerk, perhaps, I dis- missed every servant we had at that time as soon as I recovered from my illness, I would not have anybody about me who might even unconsciously have helped to bring about my husband's death. All our servants knew what was going to happen. We talked of the pur- chase very often, and at dinner on the evening before Robert went to London we discussed his visit to the bank and to the lawyers, and his appointinent to lunch with Col. ‘Donald at the club.” “It is just ible that the murderer was in your house that evening, and that he got every detail from one of your maid servants. Women are such fools, and women of tha; class will be- lieve everything that a smooth tongue tells them. It was the year after the war, a time when London swarmed with exiled communists. It was posits that this girl's brother was among them, that he harbored an old grudge against her lover—that he took puins to find out all he could about your husband’s circum- stances, and, hearing of the purchase money which was to be carried from the bank to the lawyer's office, conceived the desperate idea of murder and robbery in broad daylight, in a house full of people. I take it that the police would make some investigations in your house- pa although the murder occurred in Lon- lon?” “I know very little of what happened at that time, I was too ill to be told anything that was being done, and after I recovered I had too vet @ horror of the past. dared not speak about my husband’s death. Years have brought calmness, I can think of it now, and reason about it, though I shall never under- stand why God cut short that happy life in so cruela manner. Ishallnever understand the wisdom of my heavy chastisement.” Florestan was silent, pitying her with all his heart, both for the husband she had lost and for the husband to whom she had given her- self ina loveless uniou. He had seen enough of Ambrose Arden and his wife to divine that there was profound affection on the husband’s side, and on his wife’s only the pensive sub- mission of @ woman who has given away her life in self-abnegation, pitying the passion which she cannot reciproc«te. Daisy and her betrothed came into the room at this moment, she laden with bunches of white lilac and Marechal Niel roses as tribute toher mother. It seemed to Florestan as if spring itself had come dancing into the room incarnate in that graceful figure in acream- colored frock and sailor hat, shining upou him out of those sunny hazel eyes, giving warmth and brightness to the atmosphere, She shook hands with Florestan in the friend- lest way—too friendly to be flattering to a man who was accustomed to exercise a somewhat disturbing influence upon the other sex. But a girl who is engaged to be married has some- times no eyes for any man except her lover. Florestan had experienced that sort of thing, and he had experienced the other kind of thin, from girls who are ever on the alert for freak conquests and who are only stimulated to audacity by. the Knowledge that they have se- cured one man for their bond slave, Daisy had no hidden thoughts; she was just as simple and unaffected, just as unconscious of her own charms as she had been four years ago when she was stili a child, with alla child’s thoughts and pleasures. How different she was from the type of womau he had once com’ spe with Dante's Beatrice, with Petrarch’s waura—the splendid and grandiose among women, the queen of beauty im the world’s tournament, ‘bat magnificent type bad lost its fascination for him now. He stayed to luncheon, half reluctantly, yet unuble to resist his inclination to linger. Ambrose Arden came in from his book sale flushed with triumph. He bad gratified desires of long standing by the purchase of certain first editions of French ciassice—Villon, Clement Marot. His son msde light of the father’s craze for books with a certain imprint, “What does 1t matter who printed a book, or where or when?” he cried. “The book is only & voice—the voice of the dead. It is a spiritual thing. Iti the soul belonging to a body that haa long been dust, How can it matter what outwi form the soul wears—upon what kind of rags the divine speech has» been priuted— what kind of leather keeps the book | fall- ing to pieces, 1 um amazed when I see people going into ecatasies about bin furniture to brighten » room. really care about the outward the sya account to ie “You are young, Cyril,” gently. “Youth has the must be content “I mean to do so before lo: vagrant diplomacy and settle down as & smal Berkshire squire. I begin to feel that I am not of the stuff which makes ambassadors that a —_ is all very well until a man approaches his thirtieth birthday, but begins to pall afterward, My Paris is as familiar as an old song—I know all her tricks and her manners,” . Ishall give yy A LINGRRING Goop-BYE, He shook hands with mother and daughter, said good-bye, yet lingered and said good-bye again when stern officials ordered him off. He loitered at the carriage door till the very last moment. He sighed as he walked away from the termi- nus, and he was full of thought through all the dreary length of the Rue de Lafayette. “Happy fellow. to be beginuing life with such girl as that for bis companion,” he mused, thinking of Cyril. “She is so gentle, yet so bold, so fresh and frank and gay and clever—a child in ignorance of all base things; & woman in power to understand and appre- ciate all that is greatand noble, If ever I care again for womankind my love will be just such a girl as that. I wonder if there are many such and where they are to be found,” He wondered too, though he scarcely shaped the thought, whether, ifthe world were rich in girls as innocent and as bright, and endowed with all the qualities that made’ Margaret Hat- rel charming, he should be attracted to any other specimen of the kind as he had been at- tracted to her. He wondered whether it might not be the individual and not the type which had fascinated him. He pondered these questions as if in a purely speculative mood, but was careful not to an- swer them. aor were doubts which floated through his mind like cloudlets in a summer sky. And in his mind there floated also the image of a girl's face, fresh and fair, with no taint or tarnish of the world, no artificial em- bellishment of paint or powder, pencil or brush, upon its pure young beauty. The image haunted him tong after the train had carried Clara Arden and her daughter to Calais, long pe they had settled down quietly at River wo, He did not forget the commission which Mrs. Arden had entrusted to him. He went to the Rue Chauve Souris on the morning after that prslonges leave taking at the station and found the house which, if there had been no alteration in the numbering of the street with- in the last twelve years, must once have sheltered the girl who loved Robert Hutrel. It was & narrow house, with a shoemaker's shop on the ground floor, kept by one of those small traders who do more in the way of re- pairing old boots and shoes than of selling new ones, There was a side door, which was open, and a narrow passage, leading to a staircase, where there was just enough light to reveal the dirt and shabbiness of the walls and the indi- cations of poverty upon every landing. Florestan went to the top of the house with- out meeting anybody, but he heard the voices ofchildren upon the first floor, a domestic ere upon the second, with voices raised to eir highest pitch in accents of recrimination, andon the top story a woman was singing a monotonous sentimental melody, in apparent ‘unconsciousness of the strife below. Tt was evident there were separate households upon each stor, ‘The sing-song voice of the woman in the Garret was so suggestive of a peaccful menage that Florestan took courage to knock at her door. which was opened by the singer, a faded womau with a gentle, long-suffering cast of countenance, a washed-out cotton gown, and a little cashmere shaw! pinned across attenuated shoulders. A baby inacradle in the corner near the hearth accounted for the mouotonous chant which Florestan had heard outside, He apologized for his intrusion, and told her he wus in search of a woman who had lived in that house twelve years before. Would she peed him to the oldest inhabitant of the ouse? “You won't have far to go to find her,” an- swered the woman. ‘There's only one lodger who has been in this house over iwo or three ears, and I fancy that one must have lived ere ever since the taking of the Bastille. No- body knows how old she is, but it wouldn’t sur- pa me to be told she was a hundred. If she as sense enough or memory enough to an- swer your questions she ought to be able to tell Me anything you want to know about former lodgers.” “Who is this person?” “Mile. de Lafont, a pensioner of noble family in Touraine. She isa distant relation ef the Marquis de Lafont, who allows her a tiny pension, Her grandfather and grand- mother were guillotined in 93 and her father was left a helpless lad in Paris. She will tell you her story. She loves to taikof her youth and its dangers. And though she haga very | oor memory for events that happened yester- y she remembers the smallest things con- nected with her childhood.” “If that is the condition of her mind she may have forgotten a lodger of a dozen years ago,” suggested Gilbert. cau't auswer for that, that she must have been in this house with your lodger. If you want to talk to her I can take you down to her room, She is very poor, but her room is always clean and neat, She has Just strength enough left to attend to that, and when her sweeping and dusting are done she sits all day by the window poe her thumbs and talking to her I feel interested in her Ican only tell you “Poor old soul! from your description, and shall be very much obliged if you will introduce me to her.” [To be Continued.) ‘ oo GLIMPSES AT FASHIONS FANCIES, Small Talk Abvut the Prevailing Styles for Early Spring. Ture 1 a Sreciat Demaxp for brocaded effects or brocaded ginghams, Tue Genera, Texpency or Sprixa Goons is to greater elegance of material and more simplicity in the cut of gown. Fos Suoutper Cares Wit Be Worn all through the spring with wool dresses that are not provided with wool jackets to match, and also with black net and India silk gowns, Featuxns Taxe tHe Leap on evening dresses and are dyed in all colors to match cos- tumes, AuL Corrons are preferred in dull finish, Some or Taz Darntigst Brocape Gixouams are crossed by u piaid of lines in satin effect, or are striped with satin lines, Born Rrspox axp Baarp Writ Be Usep for trimming, though the use of lace will be the distinguishing feature of the season. There will be lace flounces and furbelows from dainty neck to tiny shoe top on almost every- 8. Amone tre Prerrr Noveuties that are now being brought out for evening wear are the flower ruches, which make such a pretty finish for skirts, For Eazy Sratxe small “millinery” muffs of velvet with toque and pelerine to match will take the place of fur in dressy visiting cos- Ax Opprry 1 Acurevep in evening wear by arranging @ puffy structure of lace, the merely rudimentary sleeve on each shou) Tueae wa Movement against the long and uncomfortable waist, “Maiotockcuen” 1s Taz Uotr Namx of o little it seems like Written for Tam Evawme Stan. METHODS OF BEAUTY. How « Smooth Skin Can be Secured and Preserved. THE DIET OF PRETTY ACTAESSES—nREAD AND MOLE INSIDE AND OUT—WIXE AND VIOLET BATHS—SUDORIFIC BEAUTE IX 4 BATH ROOM— (Oopyrighted 1890.) F you want to know how stage beau- ties keep themselves handsome there are very few words to the process. ‘They understand the art of being good to themselves, In the first place they are very clean; that is, the pretty ones are. You won't see a really charming woman in any class who isn't given to personal cares more than the rest. I went into s wo- men's meeting in the basement of a city church the other day out of curiosity, and if the trath has to be told on the Testament none of them would ever be martyred for their beauty, and not one looked as if she knew the virtue of hot water and soap for herself. The only right retty one was flirting with the minister's she he son, who was usher in the infant class room outside, by the big heater. To match those mission women for homeliness you could onl; chorus, he extremes of female ugliness are found in the two collections of women. A smart young man here says he thinks that the homeliest women in America are banded together under the name of King’s Daughters, but I don’t pronounce on the opinion because Inover knew a King’s Daughter by name. I heard of one last mgbt, a maid of ail work, who scrubbed the front steps and made the fire, tended the furnace and ran errands and swept and cleaned, worked the machine and carried coal up three flights for $2.50 a week, every cent of which she saved to give an aunt with a drunken husband, while she boarded scrap iron, rags, paper and old shoes to sell to | dedi Pence for herself. She never could ave paid a dollar fee or bought a badge in the world, but she was gentleness, faithfulness and unselfishness @personified, without any organi- zation to make her so, I'm going to get = 4 early some morning and go round to get a loo! at that girl while she scrubs the steps. Balzac or Victor Hugo or De Maupassant would find a ine in that slave of 4 charwoman, STAGE BEAUTIES. But how do the sirens of the stage attain that peculiar melting plumpness, like Kitty Blanch- ard, Nelly Stevens, Lillian Russell and Georgia Cayvan? You will see them in the restaurants after the play supping quite demurely, or meet them full face on the “ladies’ mile* between 23d street and the Metropolitan opera house, where their complexions show charmingly, as young society buds’ do not always. The linen woman at our hotel, who used to be on the stage, took up the parable as follows: “Stage beauties asarule have a peculiar training. Few of them have enough to eat when they are chil- dren, and they have to work hurd till they gain success, and then work hard to keep it. A girl who has never known what it was to have too much to eat, and who has run errands after rouge saucers for actresses or sew- ing silk and buttons for a dressmaker till she is in her teens, gets a thin skin which don't show blemishes easily, and when she has a little easier life and takes to the study and fixes up a aradise to her, compar- ingly. When the girls begin to try to fiesa up alittle most of them take to bread aud milk, with a little of ‘the least as ever is’ in it, and they are always taking physic if anything is the matter, they are so afraid of being laid aside. The Engiish girls always take ‘Beech- ams,’ but Americans stand by castor oil. If they have a cold on the chest and their insides are out of order with the horrid board they have to put up with there’s nothing brings ‘em right like a dose of oil, any time of day or night. It carries the cold off in two or three hours and leaves their heads as clear as a bell. FOR COMPLEXION every one of them has some device or other private of her own. One takes the skin off of suet and binds it on her face, another wears surgeons’ plaster to soften it, but tomy notion there’s nothing like bread and milk poal used regularly, More stage beauties owe t! complexions to this than you willever get toown. Take the crumb of baker's bread and steep it in milk and warm it just as you put it on, with linen cloth over, and you've no idea how fair it leaves the face. It seems to plamp the face, take out the lines and whiten it just as you whiten a chicken by boiling it in milk and water. Sulphur and milk or molasses clear the fuce beautifully and keeps the flesh down too, It’s nonsense about the paint and powder worn three or four hours on the stage spoiling the face if it is cared for other ways. If you go to bed and sleep with it on, of course it don't do any good, but actresses as a rule now know how to take care of themselves better than they used to, better than any other class of women, really. They wash the face and neck off well in hot water before making up, and while the skin is warm rub it with cocoa butter or the grease sold for the purpose, which is almost the same, and powder over that, paint aud add the lines with a whole palette of crayons that come for the purpose, with a big book of plates for making up the face in character. on be- fore you leave the theater this is all washed off, the face well veiled—you'll see the stage ladies very particular about their yeils—and before they go to bed the face ought to get another wash in hot water. That leaves it fair enough, and the stage paint don’t amount to more than the cold cream ladies sieep in over night.” ARTS OF BEAUTY. Young ladies studying for the stage are de- voted students of the arts of beauty, for talent is not always accompanied by attraction. The Delsarte movements and the Dowd gymnastics bring out the muscles better than the Ling or Swedish system. As usual the schools which are enthusiastic over theories of gymnastics adopt the system which does the least practi- cal good. It is the easiest and so commends itself to the pupil who feels no interest in the exercises and shirks work as far as possible. By a singularly illogical process these school gymnastics are supplemented in some families by the eccentric movements detailed by a female lecturer under the so-called advice of a German physician, It is only necessary to mention the “pivot” exercises, in which’ the muscles beiow the waist are twisted and squirmed about in a way to set the beholders in torture by sympathy, a practice said to ob- viate all weaknesses of the hips, but which would bring them on in most cases. Such vio- lent and unnatural methods bring on more Qisplacements and distortions than all the house and garden work of which women are capabie. BATH AND REST. After the exercises comes the bath, which improves in luxury and efficacy year by year. A few favored beauties in California know the tonic effect of wine baths, which are administered with some economy by taking a warm water bath first and when the pores are open entering a wooden tub containing a cask red wine, which does duty over and over again. Or bath towels are soaked in wine and iaid on the person after a warm dip, and cer- tainly the wine bath is very refreshing and re- fining to the skin. Fifteen minutes is the proper time for the application either way. It also whitens and softens the to soak them in a busin of red wine. When a sedative bath is desired the violet baths ure delightful. though a private bath is to be preferred to a public one by a person of the least refinement. People ought to be a great deal more fastidious about baths and con- veniences for washing than they are. A woman of spurious refinement wil! make a furious fuss if some dirty water happens to fall into her bath tub, while she contentedly permits her family and guests to bathe in a ‘k rough- ened zinc tub which never shows whether it is clean or not and which can hardly be cleaned thoroaghly, as particles of mucous secretions and minute icles of ulceration are held by the roughness of the metal. THE PROPER KIND OF 4 TUB, Only « brightly polished tin tub or a porce- Jain one can ever be said to be clean. The En- glishman is safe in carrying his own bath tub, much as he is caricatured for it. The acme of bathing is @ porcelain-tiled room with white ware enamel tub, where the aroma of violet es- sence floats on the vapor of « warm bath, Every sense vields to the subtle relaxation, the sweat flows doftly, the very hair takes a silkier and more pliant texture, the delicate fame soothes the nerves and steals into brain like an opiate, Beds of flowers are not to be compared to it, and if one can drying sheet to a warm, in warm linen and light think of the girls in a theater | Unfortunately, You Are Likely to Find it Rather Difficult. SOMEHOW IT IB VERY HARD FOR A GIRL TO FIXD OUT ANYTHING ABOUT 4 MAN UNTIL SHE IS MARRIED TO EIM—SHE Has TO TAKE 4 HUS- BAND ON CREDIT—BACHELOR FRIENDS. OU may talk about the difficulties that lie in the way of a man's know. ings girl before be marries her, said a young matron of the fashion- able set a day or two ago to a repre- sentative of Taz Stan, ‘but pray consider the other side of the question, which seems to me very much more striking. How much does a girl know—indeed, how much can she know— about the man she marries until after the wed- ding? Why, nothing at all, or almost nothing. And it is to that very fact that I attribute the failure of most unsac>essful marriages. The young woman simply doesn’t pecome acquainted with her husband until after the knot has been tied. Is it astonishing, under such cir- cumstances, that she should frequently be dis- appointed in him afterward?” “I will venture to say,” she continued, “that im a majority of instances the young wife is considerably disappointed after marriage in the man she has chosen. How can it be other- wise? Otten the idol must be alt ther shat- tered; but if this is not the case, pels, the idea she has formed of bim usually has to be reconstructed more or less. Perhaps he may be satisfactory in his new aspect and perhaps not, Atall events he is not at all likely to ap- pear the same man he did WHILE SHE WAS ENGAGED To RIM. During that period he was on his very best behavior, and you know what that signifies with ® young bachelor, I have learned a good deal about such things from what my own husband has told me—it is astonishing how precious een I used tobe. He is perfect. of course; ut then I believe him to be altogether an ex- ception,” “Surely your hushand has not been guilty of the crime of giving his own sex away?” “Not intentionally; but certain remarks of his, made from time to time, bave enlightened me considerably. As weil asIcan make out, the typical young gentleman whom one meets in society leads a sort of double life all the time, He is like a cat, which is gentle and sleek, snoozing peacefully by the hearth during the day, but at night tights and caterwaais on the back fences. So itis with the agreeable young bachelor, He, tov, is as sleck and gen- We and purring as possible on all occasions when he is in the society of ladies. One me bim at parties and finds him always well-bred and delightful. He comes to cali and makes himself charming. One encounters him on the street and he is a8 PLEASING AND WELL-MANNERED AS EVER. He is the sort of man whom the mammas look upon, may be, witha favoring eye, and he is seen everywhere, always the personification of everything that is comme il faut. Very likely he looks as umocent as a baby; no one would imagine from his appearance that he ever anything wrong. Aud yet how more than robable it is that he is wicked as wicked can e. It is ten to one that he has all sorts of vices, You will tind him in his club pursuing asclect few of them—drinking, smoking, play- ing poker or seven-up for money and telling naughty stories, Oh, I know something about these things now myself. And those bad prac- tices 1 have mentioned are presumably only the beginning. What does he do outside of his club? Goodness only knows, Certainly he 1s not always behaving himself in a manner that he wouid like to have reported in detail to the young ladies whom he calls upon and dances with. In their society he is one person, in the company of other men he is altogether another. The man the girl who 1s engaged to him knows as her fiance is not the real man at all, but a creature entirely artiticia!, In the lower walks of life this is not nearly so much the case; but in the fashionable world every one wears a mask.” “But women, I have always understood, don’t object to men’s being a trifle wicked.” WOMEN ARE CHARITABLE, “There is some truth in that, I admit. Women have grown accustomed to the notion that young men must sow a few wild oats and they are also aware of the fact that it isn't quite a healthy symptom for a youth to be too good, Their idea of what men‘s indiscretions consist in are exceedingly vague, but they are apt to think that such indiscretions, whatever they are, must beawfully jolly, and even to say that if they had been born to stead of petticoats they would wicked too, So, as a rule, they don't blame the men. I don’t myself so very much. The trouble is that a man may have vices of serious perma- nence without its being known to the girl who proposes to marry him. However, what I have meant all along is thata young woman under such circumstances docs not obtain any knowl- edge of the character in a general way of the man she accepts until he has been made her husband. As for a moderate degree of wild- ness. anti-matrimonial women are usually in- different to that, They rather like to feel that they are helping a man out of what he has been, before into something better, nor are they dis- posed to be jealous of the past, unlike men.” BROTHERS’ ADVICE USELESS. “Girls’ brothers will generally tell them if they don’t think this or that man desirable matrimonially.” *Yes; but what does that amount to? A girl, if she likes a man, is not going to listen very readily to anything her brother hus to say against him. A brother, though he may not be very devoted to his sister, always thinks that no man is good enough to marry her. If he says anything against the fellow she fancies it is rather apt than not to help things along, As for the father, he is not in the least likely to know anything worth mentioning that is to the young man’s discredit, however much may exist. He is not acquainted with the younger set, preeumably; does not belong to the same club, and has no sources for information of the kind, unless some one should come to him and tell him, as a matter of friendship, that Mr. Snooks is a mauvais sujet. But such a thing as that. for obvious reasons, is rarely done. Even if it did occur the daughter would have a fair show of reason for declaring it pure malice and she would at once begin to regard the objectionable youth as a martyr and a victim to persecution, which is the last thing to be desired, No—you can't very well keep young gentlemen of objectionable morals and char- acter out of your house altogether, and if the jeane ladies of the family happeu to take a \iking to them getting rid of them is almost an impossibility. Thus you see that the girl MUST ALMOST INEVITABLY MARRY without being really acquainted to any extent with her husband beforehand. The usual course of events is that she meets him ata ty, he is granted permission to call, and vith a sick months = even weeks she an- nounces to her more or less surprised parerits that she has — an offer of marriage and is engeged. And finally, without having had ‘any actual experience or knowledge of the man, she marries him. There is one thing to be said that is in the Teg favor—namely, that whatever may be said to the contrary, women are much better judges of men than men are of women; they are not nearly so apt to be a and taken in, There never was 4 man, I fo be- lieve, who could not be made a fool of by wo- men.” “And after marriage?” “All that it occurs tome to say as to that part of the business is that I don't wonder wo- men are indisposed to enc their bi bands’ bachelor acquaintance. For really the bachelor friends of a married man rarely come to sce him unless with a view to dragging him off and keeping him as long as possible away trom home, If the; could, ram sure that they would lead him into his old bachelor ways, Therefore I am disposed to look askance upon these premarital intimacies.” ee Written for Tax Evexme Stan. In February. **An atmosphere without a breath."—SHELLEr, A murky dawn—pale Hope, and Sorrow wed. Whereon is faintly traced an old-world scene. Dark sentinels the trees, stand lone and lean; In sbarp relief upon the dusky leas. taloons in- Pacific coast. Corresp: Bas & 00, poe ‘COKSON. ephoue Stock dealt in ‘Awerican Beli Telephone Stock boughtand seld.3y18 S——e—eeee——eeeeeee ee AUCTION SALES. 7 FUTURE DAYS. STOCK OF SA DRY G00) ni aie. 4 the foods must be ©. ii Cobseguence of a change in busi f1slw FOLE), Auctioneer, rputonas DOWLING, Auctioneer, ELEGANT FURNITURE, OTL PAINTINGS AND BRIC-A-BRAC AT AUCTION, EMBRACING IN PART— ELPGANT PALLOK FURNITURE IN BLUE SATIN, TURKISH EASY CHAIRS, ONE ELEGANT SOLID ROSEWOOD FOLDING TABLE (A RAKE. ARTICLE), VERY HANDSOME IMPORTED TRY TABLE, TWO ELPGANT GILT SUPERB OIL PAINTINGS, PUR- IN FLORENCE (MANY OF THEM OP VALUE), BRONZES, BRIC-A-BKAC, HANDSOME ROSEWOOD CHAIR, UPH STEREDIN GOBELIN TAPESTRY, HANDSOME BRONZE STATUE FOR GAS, LACE WINDOW st 1OK HALL STAND, WITH LARGE FRENCH TE MIRKOR AND BRONZE HOOKS; LINK BS, MAGNIFICENT SOLID BEDSTEAD (COST # CHAMBER FURN HAIR MATI PRATHER PIL- N FRAME TURK- SSeS, LOWS AND BOLSTERS, Ut ISH CRAIR, MAHOGANY AND OTHER CHAM> BER FUKNITUBE, FINE MOQUET AND BRUS- SELS CARPETS, TURKISH RUGS, KITCHEN KEQUISITES, ETC On FUESDAY MORNING, PEBRUARY TWENTY- FIFTH, 1890, at ELEVEN O'CLOCK, at residence 0 avenue portliwest, fxisil sell a snail A chutes collection of Houscheld Furniture, the ost of it having been imported by the owner, ‘The Bouse will be open for aape: Tita) THOMAS DUWL _120-dts A feos DOWLE Auctioneer IMPORTANT SALE OF NINETEEN BUILDING LOTS IN SQUA Ki 1H KP Ox D DAY OF MAI remines 1 aba anclusive te On MONDAY, THE 1890, at FOUR O'CLO: sell at pub Vivet 6 This prope by Lang M West ‘Terms: One-fourth cash, the residue in three equal payments at one, two and three ¥ with notes bear { trast op the prop diag at pure quired om terest and secured All . 36 F at TKUSTFE'S SALE OF ¥ VALUABLE UNIM- PROVED PROPERTY. SITUATED AT THE JUNCTION OF FOURTEENTH STREET EX. AND SPMING STHEET, IN THE WON, Die in Liber the Dist: oneer, By virtue of a de ISAK, folio Bot a Party wccured salts in front the premulwen WeNT\-bOURTH Day OF AT HALY-PAST bOUR Wing-described property. in D.C, kuown aud described 1) to forty fou ot Plewwm: at the po: ded excepting the por- ‘alienated, situate on the north of uson with 14th stroct 1 ed in Liber 1271, 4 the balance im rest at the rate of cash, at the option " wea wath the 1 deteuiting 2 the Even- G, Truss ditumore, ia. FINANCIAL. N-AMERICAN AND INTERN MMIS<10N BUREAU CONSOLIDAT! GEO. HILL HOWAKD, Gen Manager and KOBEAT D.GHAHAM, Ase . HVetit Sleretan facturer, Importing and Expor.iuwe bare, as per Above his ‘stipulated miujnun prc Valuatls sud American aud Mexican Land and Dinmg haw erences and full jartc- {le Ulars given Upon HE ATTENTIC AKTIES DESIRING A Good Investment to the superior advan of the Great Lages, esat from 8 to Houses will pay rentals of 12 to 14 ts invited tages of Duluth aud the Head Money can be loaned on First Mor 10 per cent. ker cent net, while lots, blocks abd acres double in ® years. or full particolars address ? POWILLIAMSON & McCORMICK, Ratate sud Bust Mortgage Laie, wenn Washington ces B. H. WARNER & CO., & MACARTNEY, F. L. MOORE, DAVIS & OO. Duluth Kere , x = PLE, MA sUFACTURERS' BANK, K OF WEST DULUTH. ya250.2m MYEKS & WHIP! BAN FIFTY PER CENT, SECURED BY REAL ESTATR SIX PER CENT ON PRINCIPAL IN ADDITION GUARANTEED. TEN DOLLARS And Upward Received. Best Paying, Most Secure and Keliahie Investment of the day. ‘This investment is backed by prominent men of the state. For particulars address WM. W. SMITH, 42 Vance Block, u,th,s Indianapolis, Ind, JATIONAL STOCK EXCHANGE, N 12 F st aw. _£6-tu,th.s.4w We buy or sell stocks in 5 to 1,000 share lots on commission 1-16 Out-of-town orders solic~ ited, - 10-luu* OHN SHERMAN & CO. ‘orwerly of this etsy, INVESTMENT BANKERS, Sav Dies, Cal SEVEN AND EIGHT PER CENT INTEREST, WITH THE VERY BEST OF REAL ESTATE SECUR- ITY, PRINCIPAL AND INTEREST TO BE PAID IN WASHINGTON OR NEW YORK, AS DESIRED. San Dicgo is one of the wost promixing cities of the coast. Correspondeuce solicited. a7 BANKERS AND BROKERS, 1411 F Street, Washington, D. 0, Members of New York Stock, Produce aud Cotton xchange. Connected by private wire with GREEN & BATEMAN, New York. BALDWIN & FAKNUM, Chicago. 3s20-2m TNO_W. MACARTNE} CORSON & MACARTNEY, GLOVER BUILDING. 1419 F ST. Nw, Bankers and Dealers in it Bonds, aaa Stocks and Bouds, and all securiues listed ob the kxchanges of New Sork, Philadelphia, and Baltimore soerkt wate A pm yt et en wy PROPOSALS. POSALS FOR IMPROVING COUNTY BO) NTHE DiSiKICT . F OCULUMBIA. Office stoners, L.C , Washi: or BOOKS AND STATIONERY 1g | Prinsing 100 carte fron ede STATIONEKY AND PERIODICALS, NOTE PAPER, 150 styles, from 10c. per quire up, . PAPER BY THE POUND. AND WEDDING STATIONERY.