Evening Star Newspaper, February 4, 1893, Page 7

THE EVENING STAR: WASHINGTON, D. C, SATURD 7 a Tc ESL sr TA ag ey al ed is eg ac ah “darn A Ace rar nn la RESULT OF DYNAMITE IN PARIS. -—-—_+—___ The Effect of the Recent Explosions | on the Parisian Public. aes “LONG LIVE ANARCHY.” - ‘The Patile Cry of the Lawless Wreckers— ‘The Law Seems Powerless to Deal With the Incendiaty Fiement—Anarchistic Reunions Progress of Socialistic Theories in France. Bpeciai Correspondence of The Evening Star. Paris, January 20, 1893. r WAS TOM APPLE- ton, I think, who first raid that when good Americans die they go Paris. But really, i things continue as they Lave been of late, some other paradise must be provided for us. Last winter any of us who chanced to live in the same house with a magistrate on the first floor or a police ser- @eant on the fifth was never sure that he might not at any moment be blown, with hideous ruin and combustion, down to bottomless perdition, In the spring they exploded the cafes where we might have been refreshing ourselves. I shall not soon forget the feelings of mixed interest with which I viewed the hole in front of the Restaurant Very, only tobe seen above the he of policem om the top omnibus, th be ad TERE. | on that side of the | ins the p ation | shortly be~ nin the Kue des Yon Enfants dey I was looking for a print in Dentu’s reserve 1 floor back enormous £00,000 in all— ty awaiting die- the world. As it een betier 5 yet heavy that could explosion d. this whole row of } shaken to the rior damage was As itis, the only e the court yard. Ever simee enormous crowds have continued ink wail without the led by policemen. | | terrible ay of France. oR. it soon passes people. «lave long been able acted by harm- ne boxes dropped | to laugh at less lunch ©: DYNAMITE lic that, if the proper man were at hand, it would soon transform itself into ® monarchy or dictatorship. OF INTEREST TO AMERICANS. Quite apart from the startling items of news which it furnishes the situation ought to be of the most absorbing interest to Americans. yw that the tragic scenes are over there appear laughable effects of actual fright, the puzzled attitude of well-known individuals, the personality of the anarchist leaders and the undercurrent of sympathy from socialists, ‘Then there is the venal truckling for votes on | tue part of politicians and newspapers, and everywhere are the demoralizing effects of a eration of theories dangerous to society, with weakness in the presence of practical violence. If anything has so far been made plain it is that existing laws are not sufficient to put a stop to anarchist incitements in public meet- ings and reckless newspapers. In our own country the attitude of the common iaw with respect to treason against the state would seem tocontain remedies effective enough if forced LONG LIVE ANARCHY. In France a proof that the state has scarcely the power to insist on its own existence is found in the affair of M. Martinet, the organizer of the “anarchist soup confer- ences.” The placards of Martinet contained nkly such words as “anarchy” and “anarch- in large type. It was his plan to give anarchist lectures or conferences under the pretext of a philanthropic distribution of soup to the poor, to outcasts and to the crim- ical classes’ in general. In his _open- ing speech he addressed himself to old offenders: to interrogate you, you must lift up your a worthily and say, ‘Yes,I have been need because society, off which you live, sme to have recourse to laws more than yours.’ Martinet himself d. been repeatedly arrested, fifteen . if Lremember rightly. e Zed always to get free, and, through all the incidents of the proceed- ings against him, continued to earry on his crusade against civil laws and military obe- dience. ‘The authorities are only now awaking to the fact that such assemblies, where free xpecch isabused, are the real germinating ground of the microbe of drnamite. But ing the last few days this mixing of soup andanarchy has been practically forced into executi | sen! ’| rottenness. | of loafers and self-styled workmen. “When the judge bas the honor |, dur. | cier and political economist; from Paul Des- chanel, the rising deputy; from Octave Mirbeau of the Figaro, from a leading theatrical writer and from other persons greatly in view. Each of these leaders of public opinion had con- sented fo with philanthropists like Mar- tinet and bis disciples,and in some eases had con- tributed money to the support of their scheme. Paul Deschanel laughingly defended himself by citing the example of Jules Lemaitre, the theatrical critic, who presented the anarchists with the complete works of Viscount de Vogue, the leader of the non-Christian movement among young men. Aurelian Scholl, when interviewed, made open confession in these oznical ‘Certainly I wrote a letter to deiégate of an anarchist soup conference. I even acknowledge having given money. By doing this I protect myself against the attacks of anarchists, attacks of which I have had one example before my eyes, and against which the Police do not protect me in the least. The Police dre far too preoccupied with catching my dogs to put them in the pound!”” IN THESE REUNIONS women of unlovely and fanatical mien often ad- dross the assembled “companions.” Others of the sex, who console their misery with bitter thoughts against society, stand listening to them or join in singing refrains that urge to| open and immediate violence. When Michael vaco was recently tried for a speech pro- nounced in the hail of commerce in the month of May last he was let off with only six months of prison because the worst of his sayings was 'y the burden of an anarchist song, which the Reople tok up in every part of the hall: olons, tuons, dynamitons! “Rob, kill, ‘throw dynamite!” aro certainly strong exhortations, but what he really said was scarcely less offensive. wachol had sworn to avenge Dardare and others. I regret for my own part that he dia not succeed. But what ho could not do.we will do. The bourgeoisie is PRACTICAL JOKES. condemned as well as the mouchard press, who are coming to treat anarchists as if they ‘were assassins. ‘The attorney general, too, and those men of the gown who condemn laborers will have their turn. Rob, kill, throw dynamite! All these means are good ‘for getting rid of such THE LAW POWERLESS. It is this powerlessness of the law to prevent incitements by speech or printing and the in- completeness of the protection which the authorities are capable of giving that seem to me the most alarming as well as the most exas. perating feature of the whole affair. It crops | ont everywhere, titis strange toleration of words that threaten all public safety. Of lage in | every strike there have been threats to use dynamite. Recently at a meeting of | the bakers’ fraction of the syndicate of | workers in food it is known there was ques- | tion of blowing up certain ofices. ‘The red | flag, which certainly in © means vio- | lence, bas been ‘repentediy displayed nt the Bourse de Travail, and | mi has yet interfered. continue to be held where “the pr | deed” is preached, where dynamiters are | glorified, and there are cafe concerts where | songs treating the explosion of bombsas al highly humorogs thing are sung to the applause | Anarchist | leaders, even when under arrest, permit them- | telves the greatest boldness of speech. “It is little matter,” said one who had just received « |four months’ sentence. “It is little matier that the happy dey when our doctrines are | INCITING THE PUBLIC To VIOLENCE. a should have an aurora tinged with | ood? on the attention of newspaper writers and pub- Next to the shoe’: of theanarchist demonstra- AT A CONFERENCE. lic men in # manner as striking aé it is comical. A TYPICAL TRIO. At the beginning of a recent week three men sat in a restaurant on the Boulevard Magenta. They ate heavily, with wines, liqueura and cof- fee. Toward the endof the meal they be@an | Ie r admiration for the au- thors of the last explosion. When their bill Was presented they protested. “It is disgust- »be obliged to pay for food. Certainly bread and meat shouid be distributed grats to those who need it. A state of so- ciety that authorizes the exploitation of poor devils by selling to them,at absurd prices, the products of the soil necessrry for their sub- sistence de-erves to disappear. You can do e, to proprietors, to capitalists and merchants only with petroleum and dy !* At last they paid and even gave centimes to the waiter; Ravachol only five (one cent) in the restaurant Very, rward blown up to avenge his ar- e¥ approached the disturbed pro- id man,” one raid, “what do you He bad courage to answer: ‘on is that peeple ought to put against have not courage to risk their own skins.” “Ah, that's the way, ie it? Very well, you nd treat now or we will blow up your RENCE 1 * just before the concierge e in the m at deai o ‘al laboratory, to amber of ten. ght has had its Se tet etiocs om outsiders, whee camwash ob Qixce for a full year now has done immense Gamage to hovel ietors, to speculators in ry species of Parisian tradesman. ‘Naturally, the first feelmng is that if the scare f tocontiuse things will be bad for Paris all Behind this, on the part of the people ‘who do not think uch, there is great resent- fuent against the present government, which ehodewa ccandal bes only inflamed.” There fealso e permnent sense of irritation at the wanton villainy of a baniful of enemies to so- Giety, Who are so terrorizing the French repub- old barracks higher than the moon.” The pro- prietor gave them three glasses of ‘brandy, and they departed after ostentatiously writing down | bis name and address in a note book. men were sent after them, and they were | arrested, but not without a severe stry; On) the way to the station house they tried to in- cite the crowd to riot, they sang the Carmag- nole and cried “Long live anarehy; dynamite for us!" coNTRIBUTIONS. When these individuals were brought before the inspector and searched it was found that they were the delegates of the anarchist soup conferences for the eves, had engraved cards with and they had been im scriptions for their winter's their pockets were found | Sel the journalist who the Boulerardiers;" from all those men who bring about explo- , sions and kill innocent laborers, while they | | tions is the newly awakened uneasiness of | usually easy-going people, when they take note of the progress of socialist theories. It is no | longer s question of politicians winning favor | | by cultivating socialiem, There are avowed socialist deputies. mayors and municipal | conacilors. As if this did not present a strange enough spectacle, of public officers pledged to | the state with the left hand and to its destruc tion with the right, there has been at least one | deputy capable of saying that “dynamite shonid | not be blamed.” In the process of bidding a DYNaMITER. for the votes of the workingmen the social- istic idea bas been nourished by every known | process, by attacking property under all its forms, by covering with unwearied pro- tection ail socialist’ manifestations, and by considering the striker as sort of public lticer whose business it is to re-estab- | justice in the relations between capital and labor. It has been cultivated by continually obtaining the pardon of malefactors and rio!- | ers who had profited by strikes to commit ¢rimes against the common law. And in all this cultivation of socialism it seems to the casual American that France ha¢ simply been giving nourishment to anarchy, with its throwing of dynamite. ~The anarchist is a socialist in a hurry, 80 cialist in despair of reforming society by regu- A resident of Rockville, Conn., about nine months ago «letter from his brother, e ona ship running out of Bom- | bay, India, asking him to send a United States | $5 gold piece, which he wanted to wear as a | watch charm. He obtained the coin, inclosed it between two pieces of heavy card-| put it in a letter, and rogisiered it. | Last Say the letter started’ on ite way and Fri | it returned to the | Who knows but A DOVE OF SAINT MARK'S, ‘Mary Agnes Tincker in Two ‘Tales, H! EU!” CRIED THE gondolier, leaning on his oar and peering forward into the dim tio leading frou? the grand canal to the Gin- decca, ‘There was no reply—no other gon- dola was coming-—and they shot round the corner into the ehadow of gerden walls and soaring palaces. ‘There were two per- sons in the gondola—a young man and a young woman. Both were painters,and they were taking their first sight of Venice, having ar- rivéd but an hour before from Padua. Having mutual friends they bad made acquaintance with each other in aboarding house in Flor- ence, had come to Venice with a party of tour- ists and had taken room in the same houso on the Riva degli Schiavoni. Mr. John Den: wes a painter by profession, and at twenty-eigh* years of age had already a budding reputation. Miss Frances Andrews declared that she only painted to please her- | self and should never dare to ask any one to ay money for one of her pictures. Noverthe- less, sho studie? as assiduously as though her bread depended on her work. “She was twenty- five years of age, anda brighter man than Mr. Sparkler might have said that there was no non- sense about her. One might have observed that the woman’s | gaze was looked at the outlines of the church and palace against the eky, at airy balconies which re- | minded her of those out of which angels leaned in some printed dome, at topmost windbws as lovely and secluded ax nests in a tree top. man occupied himself rather with what was oa dim, slanting 3 to a piazza, a etween high bridge, lined under its dari arch with dancing reflectio he called to the gondolier to stop. “What is that on the water?” be asked, pointing toa bit of burnished color floating near them. The gondoiier, by a dexterous turn of the oar, brought them alongside the obj quickly and snatched it out of the passing. It was one of the doves of St. full grown, but not yet sure on the wing. It had probably attempted too long a flight, and, falling, could only lie, with wings outspread on the water, and wait for rescue. ‘The gondolier j gave it, drenched and trembling, into the painter's bands. Dennys dried it, with his companion’s help, and warmed it in his hinds. ‘The creature—its first fright over—crept beneath bis coat and tried to hide itself under his arm, When he set it for a moment on the little shelf made by the boat frame it crept into the darkest corner and hid ad. It seemed to be ashamed. Poor little Colombo!” said Dennys, taking it in his hands again and wrapping his coat about it. “You mustn't be so easily cast down. You have got to fail before you can succeed. That is the way with us poor bipeds without feathers, Persevere as your namesake and countryman did, and yout may yet fly around the worid.” He’ bent, and Isid” his cheek for an instant caressingly against the purple neck and wings. “D im: ing to his com- panion, e which fails in attempting to fly may consider itself disgraced. Who ki but his companions float him? ¢ told this little fellow tof ahen’s egg, and so nt berond his powers! you mind, my beauty!” he added, bend- that he was hatched o dared him to a 1 Neve ing his cheek to the dove again, “I will take care o! ‘The g man had forgotten sight seeing for his poetical treasure trove, and the young liad forgotton it, too, m watching The slender, supple’ form, the colorless, finely molded face, the golden, tapering beard, seen in that soft twilight of water and seulp- tured sione made an attractive picture. ‘The of the gondola rose benind him like the ? a violin, and—she thought—made him seem set to music. “\hat a good heart he has!” she eaid to herself. ‘The thought uttered itself quite frankly in ber mind; but just bebind it some nebulous creature of co: taken forma, trembled ent fled like @ shadow, leaving no trace—nuless a feint deepening of the rose color in the smooth cheeks might be its imprint. Tho dying thing might later take some such sh i ing lover he would m me out into the Gindecea and sunset. i 1 up before past them ore boats every- inshes of color where a fish- where, and gay. sp ing vessbl sailed b Labout them. Miss Andrews sat with her hands clasped in her lap, glancing mutely now and then at her companion for sympathy. Her temperament fitted her to live of settling into coolness somewhat unexpectedly. “It isn't half bad for a wet plac. answer toa glance. And when she silently i 1 that sat motionless upon the doubled and the rude red- re on its reflected sail strain y downward toward a nether Now, if we could only intro- duce sail painting among the American fishera, we could just setile on the banks of Newfound- land and paint pictures for the rest of our lives, “Suppose we go home now,” ehe said, as they slid down past the custom house. “Your Saint Mark's dove seems to have dampened your enthusiam as well as your cont. Besides, ‘we dive before Ave Maria—to eave lights, prob- not imagine any but a hideon yellow p ing tremula heaven, he s reason for calling people in and setting them | down toeat just at that hour when Dante watched and sang the dying day.” “Besides, I must take care of my pet.” Den- nys said, after calling out “Casa!” to the gon- dolier. "You don’t seem to appreciate my prize. Don’t you know that no one is permit- ted either to catch or to kill one of these doves? Do you imagine, mai it is one of those © creatures w necks they wring you Pigeon pie? Just wait till you seo us fly- We will have a cage with the door forever ing! open: “Happy cat!” remarked the Iady, dryly. As ther passed under the bridge to the water door of their boarding house a face appeared in the drawing room window and looked down at them, catching and fixing the painter's glance. ‘It was a small face, infantile, yet ripe, with vivid crimson in the checks and ~pouung lips, large dark eyes of a wonderful briliiancy and a weight of loose black hair twisted into a crown about the head. “It is Catina, the maid,” Mies Andrews said. “T have already talked with her. She is a niece of our landlady, the Sor Rosa. Her mother is dead, and her father is a drunkard who squanders all his money in drink and gambling. So her aunt gives her a home, and makes her useful. She is very pretty. “She is just what I want for my Ruby,” Dennys exclaimed, (He had an idea of paint. ing a series of human jewels.) “What color!” ‘The face, having returned his gaze with a timid earnestness, disappeared from the window. “I wish that you would sit to me fora.pearl,” he added, turning to Miss Andrews. She bad, in fact, an oval face of @ rare, pure whiteness. ‘They had reached the step, and the door was opened for them by Catina, who lost nothi on being viewed nearer. but bad the same appearance of ripeness as her face, though she ¢ ld not havo. been. aces eighteen years of age. She s id, fitting simile, and gave the painter a ti | brilliant glance from under her long. lashes— then dropped her eyes. Her manner betrayed a certain agitation, a minglingSf timidity and confidence which was touching. “See what we have brought, Catina,” Andrews said, and she briefly told the girl story of the dove. F the ingly, ive tl "s antes ame, ik mala ber det eo rea maf be entered her paragon after having Catina disappear down a Painter's room. He Spat Ne roast end tochod oiaatily Sovant beside him, Ee iH Ee most always directed upward. She | ‘The | ciousness, that had not yet | he said, in | Her figure was small, | and she hoped that her beauty might procure her a husband of a social position to her own, Her only chance seemed to be with one of the many painters who came to her aunt's house. She looked at every new comer to sce the admired her, and if sho found his Stopes ar ene let her know if the impression she ‘him wasn serions one. She knew lnted her chances as she would have calculated | the probability of her getting a situation | as chambermaid had she been obliged | theSor om. » But it was always the husband whose image she dwelt on—the master of a pretty apart- | ment of which she should be tho’ mistress, with, perhaps, the glory of = servant of her own, She contemplated the possiblity of silk dresses, pearl powder and artificial flowers in | areal bonnet, not dreaming that her veil. or {even shawl, was a prettier head dress than those sighed for caprices of fashion which adorned the heads of her suj A red- checked bambino or a figliuoletta was always taken for granted, and she had quite made up her mind how she should dress the child and what little lessons of educazoine she should give it. She had her theater and stage very definitely arranged, and they represented her | sole hopes on earth; but the lover was as yet reonally indifferent. and one possible candi- late after another failed her without having | awakened either love or regret. But still she | felt hereolf rejected, it must be owned that Catina had sometimes the air of mutely byes | herself to them. If gentleman's eyes reste: on her, she stood still, humbly and rg | to be looked at as long as he might wish, glancing at him with those wistful, wondrous eyes of hers,as if to ask what he thought of her. When he disraissed her she went. Bu when she looked down and met the earnest gaze of John Dennys’ bine eyes looking up at her from the gondola, when she met him at the door and saw the dove trembling in his breast, and felt Lis smile and heard his low and pleas- ant voice, something new stirred in her heart. | She hardly knew where she was whon she rum- maged throngh the attic in search of a bird cage. A palace seemed to have reared itself about her, and when she went through the long corridor to Dennys’ room with the painter looking down at her admiringly sho felt as though she were floating above the earth. Shall I take it down to the kitchen to get the asked, when they had put the dove cage. Oh! it’s warm e “I will set it in the sun. She would not contradict though she | doubted, and when be made her a nod of dis- missal she silently withdrew. Dennys went down to dinner and took the measure, more or lesa correct, of the twenty persons seated around the table. They began their dinner in silence, being strangers to each other—or nearly so—and Denny attention between his plate and ina serving. | What a splendid color she had and what picturesquely careless hair! “I must certainly | paint her!’ he thought. At length conversation began like the birds at dawn, in little timid peeps here and there, chiefly interrogative. Opinions stole out and | contrary ones awoke; and presently the whole company became engaged ir. a not over-courte- ous discussion of the question: What is tho tree end of all art, and especially of painting? ‘Two or three declared that there should be a | moral possible, if not aggressively evident; but the majority were of opinion that the object of the painter should be to please, by presenting | beautiful forms and colors. The gentlemen of | the company being all painters the discussion took a personal character and soon became | more warm than courteous, and the more the artist was determined to please by his pictures ithe less he seemed to think it necessary to flease by his manners. Some-peacemaker seized an opportunity to here,” said Dennys. The dove was where he had left it, huddled into a corner of its cage and trying to. hide its head. He put the bread before it, and tried to coax ittoeat. Finding his efforts futile, he le’t it to do as it pleased and went to bed. In the morning the little creature was in the same corner of the cage, but it no longer tried to avoid him, ‘Ihe dove of St. Mark's was dead, “I am ¢o vorry,” Dennys said, carrying it down to the dining’room, where Miss Andrews sat sketching by a window. “I am afraid that T ought to nave taken more pains last night,” He seated himself by the side window from which Catina had looked at him the day before and gazed in pensive silence at the dead bird resting on his knee. Catina, clearing away the brealsfast table, glanced at him as ehe camo and went. Miss Andrews, seated by the front window, was sketching the Campanile of Sin Giorgio and trying to get in its reflection that came quivering half way across the lagoon— now a succession of rippling lines, now swept out of sight by asheet of dazzling light, and again rippling into sight. She also. glanced at | the printer, and had half a mind to abandon the subject in hand and make a sketch of him. What a good heart he hua,” she thought for the second time in twenty-four hours. “And how beantiful he is!” Catina finished clearing the table, hovered about for a few miiutes, then timidly ap- proached the painter. Will you have it stuffed?” she asked. acious, no!” he exclaimed, and gave such astart that the dead bird fell from his knee to the floor. Catine picked it up and gently smoothed its plumage. holding it against her breast. “You can bury it in the garden,” she said. “Is there a garden? That is just the thing.” j Dennys rose. Come, and show me the way. I want to finish the business. Miss Andrews, will you assist in paying the last honors to our de- parted friend?” He had already started and, standing beside Catina, looked back from the middle of the room. “Women do not assist at funerals in this country,” she replied, her eyes on her sketch. “I will'go later and earry flowers.” She hardly owned to herseif that she was a litile out of humor, thongh she certainly did not like the with which Catina made ac- quaintaxce with the gentlemen of the house. ““A girl like that should wait to be spoken to,” she thought, pulling out her watch when the two had left the room. Ifshe wished to sure how long the funeral ceremonies would last she inust have suspected her imagination was capable of exaggerating the time. Catina, still holding the dove against her brenst, led the way to a corner of the garden where a clump of oleander trees made a pleasant soli- tude. Standing beside them one could see withont being seen. “You might bury it here,” she said, and looked at him with a flit- ting, apnscious smile. She had given bim the opportunity to pay her a compliment. Would he improve it? He thought that she was afraid of him. “I suppose an Italian would feel obliged to do a little love-making if he were in my place,” he thought. ‘The small grave was dug and lined with rose leaves and the dove was cet in itas in nest | and covered with rose leaves and with earth. Catina had made a tour of the garden and had swept all the overblown roses into her apron. ‘Then, when the tiny mound was smoothed over, sho shaped a cross on it with oleander buds. What @o you think, Catina?” the painter said, when they stood side by side, their task ended. “Will that dove ever fy again?” “Ido not know,” she replied seriously. “But my mother said that there are birds in heaven. When she was dying she said that she heard them singing.” “Poor Catina!" murmured the painter. “My mother was very religious,” the girl went on. “Every one who saw her’ said tuat sho died like « saint. ye her gave her santo her face shone and she kept saying, “ that music «You were at home, then?” Dennys said. “No; I was here ‘then and she was in the hospital. She was » dressmaker, and while she could work we lived at home and did not suffer. ‘My father is a bad man and drinks all the time. j table. Dennys deputed Miss Andrews to tell | the story, and taking a piece of bread went off | tobis own room. j Dennys looked at the bi compassionate misgiving. ‘The mother's death gave a new significance to its vivid color. He | marked the iant face with = consum| ‘he: = et child. relative of yours died of “Yes, mother’s youngest because she lost her only said that it was trouble | ifr fey kt ih if it atk divided his | ask tor the rescued dove as they rose from the | Catina called ber husband's friend a todesco. painter, a never beat you. If he should attempt it call trait, I will give yous copy of it if she con- | Ceti joyful haste and Den: nye “The services | found consulting her watch. “You madea “You found them interesting?” she asked, in her aketch. “Thirty-five minutes.” He walked up and down the room, giving a florid description of the burial, and telling how he meant to dress Catina for ‘his Ruby. “I must have some red plush. Plushalways looks as if the light were shining out of it, not on to it, What's become of theittle shonider cape you wore last winter in Florence? It always ‘seemed to be the very source of all the reds about—a sort of a Jolin Keats among the colors, ‘& la Browning.” “I will fish my murax up from the depths of & trunk for you, if you want it,” Miss Andrews said. “You can make Catina a present of it.” “Oh, no,” be said, quickly, finding her tone rather dry. dida't mean to ark for it, but only after it, [hope that the prepositions de- fine my meaning. There goes our gondolier | with a new batch of tourista, [hope he won't | forget to point out the home of ‘Lod Balan.” | What an impression Byron made in Italy. They | forgot the visits of popes and kings, but the ‘ll always point out the house where be lived. “That's because all tho English ask for i ‘The summer wore slowly away | ze making a ‘motion to go, “I hope that your husband will | Qpon me. I will attend to him. Now runand | stk your suntif abo will et me palat your por-| to Miss Andrews, whom he | patting ber on the head, in smiling at her with | with gentle indifference seeming to be absorbed —e T 4 j himself to believe that he was selfish. Tn fact, And Den: He would have baughtily conte the Ketusttoe Gans bn" seaaa & murmured “Catina mia!” when she maneu- vered to meet him on the stairs; in petting her ina hundred ways. Or, perhaps, manlike, tak- ing pleasure in her beauty, he would not ‘allow he gave the subject very little thought. ise Andrews gave .t'a good deal of thought “I am going southward next week,” she announced at the table one evening in the Deginning of September. ‘There is a little chill in the air of Venice now which epoils the mornings and evenings. Besides, I am bunger- | ing and thirsting for trees. Who is for Sor-| rento?” | “But I can't go fora month yet!” exclaimed Dennvs, at whom she bad not looked. “I have just finished the Kuby eopy 1 bad to give ina, and there are a dozen out-door studies I want to make.” “What is to prevent your making them?” Miss Andrews asked with cool surprise. “You | are not obliged to go.” He bit his lip and remained silent “What is she angry about?” he asked bim- self, and remained in a brown study till dinner was over. But when they left the table be fol- | lowed her to the window. “Do let's make one | more picture together before we go!” he | | more than for the popes and kings,” sho answered, still with reserve. “Besides, they | say that Satan leaves his ttacks wherever he g00s—scorches them in.” Then, repenting of her ugly speech, “after all, poor’ Byron,” she | added, and looked up with a smile. ‘That smile restored Dennys’ tranquil Re jhad been growing uneasy, with a feeling of being chilled. For some time he had had the | habit of talking a good deal with this girl, and rather confidentially. He always told her what his plans were end asked her advice. It rather surprised himself, ax ho had not been in the habit of holding very contidential i with any one; but it was ve: liked the quiet listening, sor: ‘and the good sense and good feeling whi tated her counsels; and he especially liked a tacit understanding they had that neither spoke in the same way with any one ¢ It woul have been pleasant, even if always serious an matter-of-fact; but now and then these con- ferences were illuminated by a sweet smnile or a fascinating scolding. ing the two together one mignt have observed that Miss Andrews’ smile was always reflected in Dennys’ face. He smiled now. “Put away your work,” he said, “and let's gooutand have a prowl through the inner | canals. I want to go to the Formosa and see the Santa Barbara. What is that Ouida says about her? always go to sce what Ouid: praises. Tam so gind you like her.” ‘She's got a soul in her body, and a | generous soul,” Miss Andrews said, putting her brushes away. “They say that she pro- fesses to hate Americans, but I mean to like her even if she should hate me.”” “Bravo!” said Dennys. “Now make haste, | and we shall have time to walk up to the post | office and drop down the grand canal in time | for our roasted mutton.” “T'll tell you a secret about 0: ton and beef, andi all our roasts,” Miss Andrews whispered. "“They are first boiled to make | that mild broth in which shredded cabbage is | cooked for our soup, and then they are put into | the oven and browned over fora roast. For- | tunately our youthful appetites stop their | career at that staze, or who knows what other changes they might go through!” She ran upetairs in great good humor to put on her hat. “+After all, he means nothing in | looking at the girl,” she thought, thrusting « spillone through hat rimand braida, He sees in her merely a @abject.. I hope, dressing her reflection in the glass, “I hope you are not going to make a fool of yourself! ifto be bappy was tobe a fool. then Mis Andrews was very foolish during the bright days which followed. Such wealth of undaunted color, such an enchanting, sweet silence, full of hfe! ‘Sometimes she Dennys painted to- gether out of doors in some little piazza, or on a quiet bridge, or ina disused boat. The girl caught on her canvas the tip of a campanile ated from the earth by a cloud of thick mist, with a dim line of roo’ floating like a wreck héside it. The man painted dark, ronnd arch: of maseive stones, with the gay colors of a | group of fruit seliers seen on water steps | beyond. “We two represent earthand air,” he said. ‘Some day we must try to unite thom. I will aspire and you must condescend. If a dark thread ran through that bright web it was woven there by Catina, who was growing into a ruby under Mr. Denuys’ brush, The young man painted from morning to night and Catina was bis indoors subject, Every day she gave him an hour in the chamber at the top of the house, which he had choren as a siudio. They were frequently alone, though the aunt went up occasionally for proprieties’ sake, or sent some one to open the door. She had per- fect confidence in Mr. Denuys, and, in fact, in Catina; for the girl told her every item of thoso interviews, which both hoped were a courtship. “Well, Catina, what has he done today?” the Sor Rosa wonld ask eagerly, drawing her niece aside when she came down froma sitting. “He patted me on head.” Catina whis- | pered, looking anxionsly into her aunt's face, as if to see how much patting on the head might mean. “+And he called me ‘Curjna.’”” “Um!" murmured the aunt, nodding ber head up and down thoughtfully. “There is no herm in that. But be prudent. If thou art licht he will not wish to marry thee. And yesterday he squeezed thy hand?” No,” said Catina, “he smoothed it softly and said that it was’ pretty.” She lifted her hand as she spoke and gazed at it with a dreamy reverence. “He was placing me and seemed to notice it for the first time. He laid my hand on his—so, palm to palm—and looked He said the nails are prett ‘And then?” the auat prompted “And thon he told me to sit still, and went back to his easel.’ “Thou didst not draw thy hand back?” ‘No; Liet it stay, It was he who let go.” “T think,” said theSor Rosa after a moment's study, “that if he takes thy hand again thou hadst better draw it gently back after just one second, and then, psthaps, he will wisli to keep Catina received the lesson with breathless earnestness, gazing at her aunt with large, anx- ious eyes, childlike, yet passionate. Poor Catina! Her portrait was but half done and already she adored the painter. It was no longer with her the question of having a good husband, of rising in the world and dressing like a lady. Her one thought was: Would this golden-bearded artist love her? She felt herself sinking away into dark choas at the thought that he might go away and leave her. But a few weeks and already there was a fever in her blood that burned like ruby color of check and lip to an intense flame and heightened the luster of those dark, appealing eyes. From dawn till sleep came at night he was her one thought. She studied to be at some window when he came out, to watch him as long a: he bly roasted mut- macy with Miss Andrews; but watching closely, she had seen no sentiment in it. There was a cool composure in their intereourse which did not at all agree with her idea of lovers, and she = aphies Hig She hea apa were out. together. seen herself unseen, when her aunt had sext her out for a fiask of wine. tay ng Borgen wg way apart, almost back to bent over their od as maby jon apairmeed oranges. Then she sometimes opposed the Marae gee mae maz could not bold an ‘shared by him! with ite bare walls, tiled floor shade the blaze | begged. ‘The are warm yet. Ye | know I don't want to stay here afier you | away, and I should © tear myself aw: | now. Let's try that view up by the Frari. | She hesitated—and consented. | means no harm, she thonght for the hundredth | time. Idoh't believe he suspects the girl in | throwing herself at his head and that sbo is | really wild about him. “I will stay to paint | one ” abe said, “but only one. Have you quite finished with Catina?” “Yes, my Ruby is cut—a brilliant—and set r aid. “And a pretty jewel she is, her the copy, but I had promised ey it back.” Andrews" shoulders gave a somewhat im- movement. The next morning they went out and found | a large boat moored at tho very spot where they | wanted it and they took possession and set up their easel, They had agreed not to look at | each other's pictures till they were nearly fin- ished, and not even to guess what the othe! jsubject might be. They could not help seging that both canvases were high and narrow, but that was all they knew. And so it chanced that the pictures grew to be two mysteries, the solution of which was | dently longed for, with some haunting imp sion of a deeper meaning in both their minds. | Dennys painted a dark carved balcony over « darker portal. A veiled woman, entering, | glanced back over her thoulder from the thr | old. But instead of stopping, as his manner Was, at this fragment of somber richness and | mystery he showed the palace corner climbing story above story to the light and ending in s terrace that shone with sunshine like a beacon, And on the terrace stood a woman looking The figure was «mall against the sky |and wore a tiny crimson mantle around ber | shoulders, a reminiscence of the famous plush cape. ‘Miss Andrews covered her lower canvas with |fog—ns im her first Venetian picture—and painted the lanthorn and half ‘the dome of a church above. But instead of leaving them | isolated there she showed the visionary lower | half of the dome beneath and dimmer wails dropping to a mist-smothered arch and wet, | blurred stair above the scarcely guesred at | glistening of still waters, ‘They went out every day, and at length the day came when they should see each oth ures before going home. Dennys set his uj before his companion and stood behind it, ching her fac ‘How it climbs!” she said, after a minate of pleased contemplation. it is the apotheosis of your plush cape,” he Now, let me see!” and he came around | behind where she sat, facing her canvas. “Ah! it is as I said!” be eried at once, “I ;pired and you have condescended. We | After all, be | | Feeling his band on her was bending over her, looked quickly around, and just in time to catch upon her lips the kiss he meant for her check. ‘There was an ingtant'scilencé. Dennys stood upright and Miss Andrews gave a frightened glance about to see if they were observed. Then, with an air of severity, she began to | gather up her brushes. “I beg your pardon!” Dennys with a ed confus 1 declare I Lesides, of course, I —for the first time.”” better be going home,” the lndy remarked with dignity. “I suppose you mistook me for a model, ‘The painter's countenance fell. She had stepped out onto the landing while she spoke and there was no opportunity to reply. Not a word was uttered as they walked to the steamer landing and sat side by side buzzing down to the Riva. The lower landing was two or three bridges above their bouse, and Dennys, watch ing his companion with 'sidclong glances as they walked down, took courage from the color of her cheeks. “Iwant you to let me tell the family some- thing this evening—Francesca,” he eaid softly. “Tell them what?” with an affecuation of great wonderment. “Phat you and Tare engaged to be married.” “Nonsense!” she exclaimed, tutning her face and that he fignorina would excuse Mies Andrews found herself i oY Where wae Where the bt and questioning, nob touched by aversion, jooked through thowe eye, The lips uttered au inardiculate marmur ie} Was neither welcome nor compliment, but a reluctant recognition of her presence. Miss Andrews talked on volubly of her ime fallible remedy till abe got rid of the Sor Rows, then leaned over the bed and mnacethed bec the sick girl's tumbied heir, “It ixa't toothe ache. tina!” she whis od. “Ob!” murmured Catina, with « look of feat, Is be to blame?” pursaed ber vis I don't know what y “Did he ever kiss Fou!” Miss Andrews wont on, ignoring the girl's incoherent protest, aif looking steadily into her eye= The lids fel beautiful, dark-fr cheeks.” He had k membered and wrap hearts, not co alight kiss hen he had ddress, v the forehead in a ring 0! been more an impuisive delight than a pers quick ented of once tried to study out the quick change have don agh. ‘The visitor rose with a b and went tober own t b tr: She was luncheon, and when table it was in tray wrap and cushion “Whose trank fervant wh. he said, wh laughed ! pleaved her and trinket with to sell be Mins A of cc Then out in with moonlight re they took th aw we as ther pas all, white Catina, trembiing leaned from the wi ull unde bed again. The band gold napoleon that Denn it wo close that cloek and pair the print of the «. her heart her, bela have ta gift of mo wanted her, that was al! > binme, She t © she bad not of his to the and broken, ed to . thrown wortal 2 sho wo! much paina with h doctor that they not take the tre her up so many di an orange pec tered that She did a mafoolish girl” For the two artiste if was south still farther southward as the we era in Ca. of a skeleton at parad ine. ilated, acknowledge: and doubt, like a w models troubled her, for th to Dennys’ golden beard and han Isome face Besides, they all hed the same ambition, te inarry an artist: perhaps a milord, at very lea® anartist, Some of their fe now great ladies, © friends were sometimes used as caught Denys in inter of these giris, the gaze and the girl's. why they imme Miss Andrews ap) yuy with one 1 and pepetra 4 when om They were at the house door, which stood |open. Catina had come down to open it for | them, baving seen them from the window. But H they did not see her standing back in the dark shadow of the vestibule. “One moment!" Dennys said, stopping at the lower stair. “You are not angry with me, Miss Andrew “If you allow me to forget your nonsense I shail forget to be angry,” she replied, and touched lightly the hand he beld oat to he Ah! ‘That was love! Catina saw and knew itnow, When had he looked so pleadingly at her? ‘That was love and they were lovers, An hour paseed and the dinner bell rang, but no Catina came to serve the table. They called in vain, scolded, and finally searched for her. She was found face downward on her bed, crying with toothache. She yas subject to toothache and the exeuse was accepted. She could eat nothing. Ali she asked was to be let alone, and they let her alone. Later, at bed time, when the cook brought her up some sort of remedy she took it quietly. The cook slept in the same room and was soon sound asleep. Before long all the house was quiet, ‘Then, softly rising, Catiua crept down stairs tothe garden and went to ite farthest corner, where the oleanders were. There she could weep unheard, lying on the ground beside the dove's poor little grave. The air was damp and chilly, but that was better than to suffocate with restrained sobs. At dawn she stole in again and went to bed, trembling with cold, with arcal toothache this time; coughing, too, it Herannt came to her and bade her stay in bed. “You've gota cold,” she said. “I will send you up some tisane.” Keep yourself well covered and try to get intoa perspiration.” Everybody at the breakfast table asked for Catina’ and everybody hoped that the child would soon be up. “Oh, it is nothing.” said the Sor Rosa, “‘She suffers with her weeth. Miss Andrews alone said nothing. pearance. Now that our are done I am going at once,” sho to Dennya. “I ahall go to- morrow Mra, James and Jonny are i to Florence, #0 I shall have compaay 80 showed through “You can go,” think 1 Ow doa't more del, is dead,” ba by, « sea, her brows fr Denys. ute “Poor little thing end so. dove of Saint Mark's, Fran did not mean to tell you if Teoutd help she said, ov t of revues as he came 1 suid to mys 2 that for ¢ wich jow listen to what I can tell that you meant no Lari, an be a8 well as for your ovr unless I should girl. Catina, She spared him nothi An th that a woman's glance ¢ -, © wate ing bita from behind a « g about With any excuse when he w manag. ing to meet him on the stair or at th trembling hand when six dering attendtion when sh ed bit heard they camte home that quent disappearance, the interview self rought and the little white Bazed after them when 5 end all +i; car = cred,” she said, in a voice io Passionate feeling. “I give no doubiial word or glance to any man, and if am he sces no flattered Sanity or eq) It is yes or no with me. I w self if I gave hope to one I ¢ is the prostitution of the soul and it even as it soils a woman Lean beauty of @ man and remain as ice pleases my artistic taste, but be wi glance from me. He cannot touch my hands if he were an Apollo. And such as i am my bus band must be, or deceive me for a time into bee lieving him much. Iwantno man as husband whora I would be afraid to trust with a pretty chambermaid. Such a man should merry © woman who would ftirt with her cosckman, ‘There are enough such women. You cau sind orelere me with suspense while waiting his leaned on the rail bende her and said nothing. Hf be, stays all, is, over between as,” thonght, and said aloud: “Each one to his taste. are those who would like to nd their lives in Venice, To me it would be She had turned away from him while speak- but at the last word she turned as if to ge ng a glance at him. Without making « Denny bed sunk into chair, his arm on