Evening Star Newspaper, June 18, 1898, Page 18

STAR, SATURDAY, JUNE 18, 1898-24 PAGES. CHAPTER XVi—Continued. Harewood went to the bed and sat down; | and, an hour later, when Bourke knocked, he opened the door and took his comrade’s hands affectionately in his, saying that he would go with the troops; that he was glad and proud that Bourke had chosen Yolette for the woman he would marry, wishing him luck and happiness. He spoke lightly of the expressing his satisfaction at a chance for action and a certainty that all would go well. He spoke of an easy re- turn to Paris, once the German lines were ruptured and a free passage established; ! he prophesied his own early return, smiling carelessly when Bourke stammered his thanks and wishes and fears. They sat to- ; gether consulting maps, sketching routes and probable lines of investment, until the late sunlight sent its level crimson shafts far down the carpetless hallway, and the shadows reddened in every corner. * * * Before Bourke left he spoke again of dan- ger, but Harewood smiled and folded up his maps gayly. “You had better look to yourself,” he “Did you notice the crowds around bakeries and butcher shops today “Yes.” replied Bourke. “Yolette says that prices are going up, and many people are buying supplies for months ahead. I think I'll lay in a store of tinned stuff, Vegetables and meats, you know. If there should be a famine things might go badly with us. “And if Speyer troubles you, what will you do?” I don't know,” said Bourke. “If it would be safer for Yolette and Hilde, I suppose we would be obliged to move. But it won't come to that, Jim; they can’t turn us out, and, as for their blackguardly threats about Yolette and Hilde, it’s too late now to carry them out. The Prussians are here, and nobody can leave the city, willingly or unwillingly.” Hare ast more. gravely. “I needn't say, Jim, that I'll do all I can. “All I can” meant, for Bourke, devotion while life lasted. Harewood knew this. Nothing could happen in the few days I'll be away, and if I can’t get back as soon as I expect-—" “I will do what I can,” repeated Bourke. After a silence they shook hands. Hare- wood returned to his room, closed the door, locked it. and flung himself face downward on the bed. But he could not even close his eyes, and when Red Riding Hood knocked he sprang up and unlocked his door with the relief of a half-stifled man. They exchanged their kiss solemnly. He sat down again on the bedside and took the ehild In his arms. For an hour he told her stories. wonderful tales of the east and west, legends of north and south, chronicles of saints and martyrs and those well loved f sortie, ood lingered restlessly at the door, yugh he wished to say something Bourke understood and nodded of God. And the burden of every tale was honor. Twilight spun its gray web over all, sounds grew softer. the child slept in his arms. He laid her among his pillows light- ly. then went his way down the dim stairs, flight after fight.until he came to the closed door. Again it opened for him, as it had opened once before, noiselessly, and he en- tered. On the niche in the wall Sainte Hilde of Carhaix stood. leaning at an angle, for when she had fallen feet and pedestal had been shattered on the tiles. Under her hung a rosary. He looked around slowly. Behind the ‘tain by the dim window something moved. 2 “Hilde.” he said aloud. He scarceiy knew the voice for his own. But she knew it. What else should she hear—hear all day. all night, —always his voice. him through the twilignt and id_both hands in “You aré going away?” she said. She had not heard him say so, there in the hall. She knew it as women know such la “Iam going away.” k again. She d lip and ey A chill crept to her nN a terror that dri Her knees trembled. and set the brass cross swinging like a pendulum, tim- ing the sands of life. The sands of her life were running quickly now—too quickly. “You heard?” he asked. “It was you—on airs there?” breast. She waited for a word—a single word, that meant salvation. She shrank before silence, for silence Was her sentence -a tence without hope, without ap; eal. After a long while her hands fell from his, | She moved backward a ste Her head | brushed the hanging rosary | “That Bourke loves Yolette?”” es. She reached out in the darkness, needing Support. The white wall seemed to waver and recede under her hand. “And Yolette?” whispered Harewood with tight lips. There was a crash @ tinkle of reelain oa the tiles. Sainte Hilde of Carhalx had | fallen again at his feet. There was some- thing else breaking, too—close beside him— @ woman's heart in the twilight. “And Yolette?” he repeated. She sad: “Do you love Yolette7” His hot head swam: he groped for a chair and leaned on it heavily. Then he sat down. his clenched hands over his eyes, knowing nothing, hearing nothing, not the quiet sob in the darkness, not the faltering footsteps, not the rustle of her Knees on the tiles beside him. Two hands drew his hands from his eyes, a silken head rested on his knees. “Whatever is for your happiness,” gasped. “but—be honorable ter.” And again she whispet pi ‘s—that is all my meant.” = looked up slowly, trying to understand he she it is my sis- ed: “Your haj love for you has | question that at last had been an- swered for iim. It was so simple, so clear pow: had he ever doubted it; doubted that e lov And where was fear now—wh: was Iif-distrust “ei st—despair? They had van- Mf they had ever existed. As ing to understanding had im with the subiler passion endure while life endured he > quietly happy. The el his hand feil lightly on her head, and when her fac was ed to his, and when she his body and knew the mys- of eternity, which is than the shortest atom of a second fer than the sleep death. There was # spot of moonlight in room; her face was paler. His lips touched the exquisite contour of cheek and brow he scarcely dared to touch her mouth, the mouth that had been his for the asking for his pleasure, tor an idle smile. The ai. Vine curve of the parted lips, the shadowed lashes on the cheek, troubled him. Her eyes unclosed: she looked at him list- lessly. crushed to his breast. Stunned by her own great happiness, she listened t the words. so lorg awaited, so long de. spaired: the words that told her his love Was to be forever and forever: this love she lived for. She scarcely comprehended, she seemed awake, yet swooning. Her head had fallen back a little, lps parted eyes never moving from his own. t Forever and forever, together, together, to love, to old. honor—* Ah, Hilde—“to hcnor'—that is what he is saying: can you not hear? Her eyes enthralled hii hid their heave her mouth. “Life of my life, heart of my heart, breath of my breath, forever and forever, to lofe, to hold, to cherish, to honor.” Her eyes unclosed. “All that was yours at our first kiss," she said. ‘They were standing by the window. where the moonlight barreé her body and transfigured a face so pure, so exquisite that the hot tears of repentance blinded him and he could not see until she dried tshed utteriy the always to cherish, to her closing lids nly sweetness. He kissed | ous. | thing for his sake—for Yolette’s sake.” THE Evi BY Ro! COPyeIGHT 096 © coesarecammetes them, grieving at his grief, whispering consolation, forgiving with a caress, a pale smile, that mirrored the adoration in nis eyes. When two souls meet the purer ab- sorbs the other and stains of life are wash- ed away. Into her spirit had come the strength and knowledge that is needed to bear ihe burden of a lesser spirit; she it was who was to lead, henceforth, and he knew it. Young, vet worldworn, he sought her guidance, he craved her spiritual purity. She wept a little, standing very still, when he told her that he must go | with the troops—that cither he or his com- rade must act as breadwinner for them both. He made it clear to her that it would not be honorable to accept money and make no effort. He told her that he wished this for his comrade because the sac- was ry. As he spoke he that his unselfishness might make him more worthy of her, and she divined his thought and smiled through her tears, saying he was all her life and hope and happiness, saying he was brave and noble and gc He said that his comrade was all that. He made her prom- | ise not to tell Yotette until he returned be- cause if Yolette and Bourke knew that they were betrothed Bourke would insist on sacrificing himself. “He wouldn't let me go; he is so gener- Hilde, my darling, I must do this “Yes, I shall weep no more.” He smiled with that perfect happiness that self-sacrifice brings. “Does Yolette love him?” “I don't knov “And—did you veetheart?” “Yes, did you?” “No,” he said. “And—now? Their eyes met. “And now,” she sighed, trembling with think I loved “Yolette, ; happiness. His arms encircled her slender body. He whispered, “My Hilde—’ then stopped. For there came a tapping at the open window. He turned his head slowly. The window opened, a face ‘ooked in. It was the Mouse, haggard, bioody, blinking at them with his blind eye. CHAPTER XVII. A Reeruit for the Government, When Hilde saw the Mouse she uttered a cry of fright. Harewood stared at the tat- tered creature with disgust. “Get out,” he said. “Let me come in, mensieur,"” whined the Mous>. “They are following me.” “Following you?” Harewood stepped to the window. “Who? The police?” ‘he troops,” muttered the Mouse, un- der his breath. “Hark! You can hear them —in the Rue Malaise.” Harewood listened. “i hear them. Come in.” He opened the side door of the garden, motioned the Mouse into the empty bird and fvilowed, calling back to Hilde to bring a lainp. Wnen Hilde entered, a moment later, the lamp lit up a ragged figure, lying flung acress the iloor. ‘nese Was blood on his cropped head, on his ust and wrist. Harewood took the lamp and knelt be- side tne inert mass. The yellow light fell on one unciosed eye, ivory white, sunken, He's been pricked by a bayonet; he’s been running nard. Ask Bourke to come,” whispered Harewocd. He set the lamp on the floor and lifted the Mouse's arm. “Ugh! “Poor thing—poor thing, standing with smail ‘Shail £ bring wate “Yes, and call Bourke.” A moment later Lourke entered, carry- ing a pitcher of water. Hilde and Yolette foliuwed with some cioih tor bandgges, a bow! and another iamp. ‘The Mouse was sitting up, supported by Harewood, his ragged back resting against the hop ounter, his legs thrust out on the floor. He swallowed all the cognac Bourke gave him without comment, winked sulemniy with bis sound eye, gasped and looked up. He recognized Hilde and Yoletie at once, and a flicker of amused inail came into his face, which changed, how- ever, so suddenly that Harewood thought he Was about to faint again. “The lion!” gasped the Mouse. Want to see It was difficult to quiet him. The horror of his previous introduction to Scheherazade had lett an impression never lto*be opi erated. However, he was in no conaition fer further fright, and at last Hilde’s pity and Harewood s amusement reaSsured him. they punched me full of holes,” he ex- rd. “The soldiers of Vinoy and the 2 Mobile, for what? God knows,” he piteously. “Have I been shot, mon- He’s been shot, too,” he added. faltered Htide, nas tightly clasped. “I don't plai razed; it is nothing,” replied Hare- wood. He looked anxiously at Hilde; she understood, and drew Youlette toward the door. “Are you hungry?’ she asked, shaking her head gravely at the Mouse. “Mademoiselle,” replied the Mouse, with an approach, to enthusiasm, “I am always hungry.” Hourke and Harewood washed the bat- tered ruftiap’s wounds; they were slight, perhaps painful, but in the lower organ- isms sensibuity to pain is at a minimum. It is exhaustion that tells most heavily upon creatures of the Mouse's species; the finer toriures, mental and physical, need nerves for appreciation, and the Mouse had none. Bourke brought him a chair: | Harewood set the two lamps on the coun- ter; the Mouse was supplied with 2 cigar. “Now,” said Harewooa, “go on. coe Mouse leaned back luxuriously; a pli sense of well being and security filled kis body and soothed him to the ends of his toes. “Messieurs,” he said, “it was Major Flourens. I was at the Undertakers’. We were all there peaceably, like gentlemen at cur wine — denouncing the government. Then comes your American Buckhurst, who whispers to one—to another—ma’ foi! wha: He shrugged his shoulders and shifted the cigar in his thin lips. “Then,” he resumed, “your Americans, Speyer and Stauffer, began to shout, ‘To the Hotel ce Ville! Viva la commune!’ and our Major Plourens calls for the druramers of the ear- bineers to beat the ¢ throusn Belle- ville. Messieurs@in 2 moment we were marching, all marching and singing the “Marseillaise.” You uaterstand that our heads were warmed a iittle? Elut! Je ve m’emballe p'us.”” Go on.” said Bourke, sharply. The Mouse examined his bandaged arm, blew a disgusted cloud of smoke from his Ups, shrugged, and continued: “Your American, Buckhurst, said it would be easy. Everybody said so, nothing to do but march into the Hotel de Ville, make a new government and become rich.’ L went, messieurs—it was quite natural, was it not? Mince! They arrived, too, the fantassineof Vinoy and the Garde Mobile. Iran. It was natural.” very,” said Harewood, gravely. ‘est ce aps? Done—I ran. So ran the carbineers of Flourens. Fichtre! They— the others—ran after us—the line and the Garde Mobile, and—I am here.” Harewood laughed outright. Bourke looked seriously at the Mouse. So there had been a revolt in Belleville. Flourens and his “legion,” now known as the “carbineers”’—had, at ‘the instigation of Buckhurst, Speyer and Stauffer, descended from Belleville to seize the Hotel de Ville and proclaim the commune. Why had Buckhurst done this? For plunder. Why had Speyer urged it? Bismarck’s spies were paid to foment disorder. Was this the first sample? Did the pockets of the under- takers bulge with Prussian gold? “Who beat the generale in Belleville?” de- manded Bourke suddenly. “The drummers of the carbineers,” re- piled the Mouse, with a wink. “By whose orders?” “Pardi—the orders. of Major Flourens, monsieur.”” “Did the carbineers march?” “Yes, and 2,000 of the Belleville aristoc- racy,” said the Mouse, impudently. “Oh, like yourself?” “Oui, monsieur.”” . Bourke walked over to him and before the Mouse could protest he had whipped a ENING STAR BT W-CHAMBERS: handful of coins out of his pocket. Among them was a gold piece bearing on one side the Prussian double eagle, on the other the portrait of Wilhelm, Koenig. “Where did you get that?” Bourke. The Mouse seemed genuinely surprised. “Captain Speyer gave it to me,” he re- plied placidly; “all gold is good now. It cost two like that to start me marching for the Hotel de Ville; it will cost twenty in future,” he added. Bourke looked at him intently, then, pa- tiently, he began to point out’ what the presence of German gold meant among the people—he spoke simply and slowly, ex- plaining to an undeveloped intelligence. “It is distributed by German spies,” he said. “Bismarck pays them to weaken Paris by turning Frenchmen against the Frenchmen.” “What's that to me?" replied the Mouse sullenly. All the hatred of the rich flamed up in his single eye; he set his ips and sneered at Bourke. Frenchman against Frenchman. What is that to me? It is what I want. I, the Mouse!" Harewood shot a disgusted glance at him, but Bourke, subtler in his appreciatioa of men, spoke again patently. “Very well; Frenchman against french- man, rich against poor, if you will; but not now.”” “It is none too soon.” growled the Mouse, with an evil light in his single e “Then,” said Bourke, “if you are in such haste for money, go out to the Frussian demanded ution of the Uindertakers. Therefore, willing to be guided, and Haret ithout serrpie, the governttient g recruit. There was andther feature that Hare- wood had réglected to egunt on—the curi- ous, unconsgious dttachment of the Mouse to himself. ‘Was jt gratitude for aid when the police rin hip througn the Pasage de VOmbre? Was if, an instinct that moves live things fo confinue to protect whatever thay save from, destruction? Each had saved the other in sorest need, and now the Mouse’s,jnclination moved him to move of Flourens, Bugkhurst and Mortier, and the wholesale ex e brought when and here Harewood moved. There wagea’ in the bird store and here the M@@se ordered to bathe in the hot water fhat Heurke brought laughing. Later, his Wo redressed, the Mouse sat down th be fga. He wore an old suit of» Bourke's clot, him shy and sw: s, his clean shirt made cious, but a heavy din- ner dissipated sugpicions, and, later, a mat- tress and Blan) in the corner of the bird store aided the Mouse to slecp a sleep of repletion pleasantly tinctured with dreams of carnage. CHAPTER XVIII. The Woman Who Waits. That very night, unknown to Harewood, a sortie was attempted from the gates of the south—a sortie, as usual, inadequately sup- ported by artillery. About midnight the cannon on the southern forts aroused him. Bourke came into his room, and together they looked out into the night, where, above the Issy fort, the sky reflected dull crimson flashes as gun after gun boomed through the darkness. After awhile Bourke went back to bed. Harewood, too, slept soundly, lulled by the swelling harmony of the cannonade. ~The | grumble of the guns ceased with the night. In the morning they knew the troops had failed at Chatilion. They knew also that the raid on the Hotel de Ville had proved a ridiculous fiasco, so ridiculous that the government allowed Flourens to retire to his Felleville fastness undisturbed and drink mournfully to the commune with his carbineers. It is probable that the gov- ernment believed it had its hands full with- out inaugurating civil strife in Belleville under the muzzies of the Prussian guns. This inertia or cowardice of the govern- ment was the beginning of that disastrous temporizing later criminally indulged in by “HAVE I BEEN SHOT, MONSIEUR?” lines. They will pay you wi age of today's newspapers.” “Dieu de Dieu!" shouted the Mouse, red with rage; “do you take me-for a spy?’ “No,” said Bourke, with a sigh of relief. Harewood rose and gravely took the Mouse's uninjured hand. “You're a decent casse-geule,”” he said; ‘listen to M. Bourke. An hour fater the vague intelligence of the Mouse, deformed and crippled from his birth, was enlightened enough for him tc see that he had been the very thing that even his distorted nature shrank from—a paid traitor to his own land. Then fury seized him and he cursed until Harewood threatened him savagely. He understood but one thing—he had been duped by some one—he had been played, im- posed upon, perhaps mocked. And this a criminal never forgives. There no righteousness in his fury—unless the. blind instinet that forces a man to spare his own land can be called such. He abs' from treason as he abstained from balism. If he had owned a square French soil he would doubtless have fought for it tooth and nail; but there was no broader impulse to make him fight for tHe land that others owned—the land owned by emperors and princes and the rich. Yet even he would nof sell it, though he did not even know why. What stung him was that somebody had tricked him into doing something. | This roused the sullen rage that never dies in men of his type, a rage that needs to be glutted with vengeance—a somber hate that must be hugged and cherished and brooded on until the red day of reckoning. That day was to dawn—he scented it as buzzards scent a thing far off—the day when the specter of the red republic should rise and stalk through Paris, until the palaces sank in ashes and the gutters marked high tide for the crimson flood. But there were others first to reckon with; those others, whoever they were, i for a pack- Thegiouse Leaned Back. wherever they were, who had duped and mocked and bought and sold and tricked and flouted him. And yet he was patient by nature—when vengeance needed pa- tience. He was sly and, when it served his ends, cowardly, like a wolf in a pit. Bourke’s brutal sclution of the problem needed Harewood’s finer hand to prove it, and he did, molding the Mouse at his will— tempting him with the bait of satisfied re- venge, enslaving him with the oppressive conviction of a knowledge superior and more materially powerful than his own. ‘The Mouse understood that he had been used for the pleasure and profit of other men; that he had been tricked into treason. He also understood that Harewood knew ‘how to help him to revenge, and that made him docile. He comprehended that a knife stuck into Speyer’s back was poor ven- Seance compared to the ultimate confusion of the whole spy system, the annihilation Thiers, and which cost Paris the commune. So Major Flourens. flourished his heels in security, and Buckhurst, emboldened by the government's apathy, refused admit- tance at the Undertaker’ to. reporters or government officers, Whie Speyer and Stauffer whispered discontent 2nd treason among the carbineer: The week passed slowly @or the Mouse. He was waiting for revenge. It passed more swiftly for Bourke: he was in lov As for Hilde and Harewood, the days ap- peared and vanished like April rainbow He was with her in the evenings, In the mornings he haunted the war office, ears open, for any bit of gossip that might indi- cate the date of the next sortie. The war cflice remained in a state of in- describab'e confusion. Everything lay at loose ends. There appeared to be no sys- tem, no order. ‘The piace was thronged by ircesponsible young officers who knew everything and nothing, and who talked, talked, talked. Surely it needed no extra~ ordinary spy system on the German side to keep M. Bismarck au courant with the daily fe in Paris, with the physical and moral cenditions of the French army. Every movement: contemplated was ‘lis- cussed with unheard-of careiessness, every secret project aired, every pian shouted aloud to anybody who cared to listen. The vital necessity of secrecy in arranging for a sortie was abso.ute'y ignored. Is it, then, Germans knew of it and were massing in the threatened zone? Hurewood, always weicomed among men wherever he went, found no ditficuity in learning whatever he wished to learn. This knowledge he ‘used; he bought hun- dreds of tins of’ meat and vegetanies, all the flour he couid get, all the siscuits and Freserves. He had heard things from high sources that appalied him, and ie looked feartuily at the lines of people Leginning to gather in front of the provision depots. Fuel and candies he bought, too, but be could purchase no oil, although petroleum Was cheap. The oil was used to inflate batloons; the petreleum could not be burn- ed in lamps. Hilde and Yolette were provisions in the cellar and bottling Wine, aided by Red Riding Hood ani tho Mcuse. The Mouse, cleaned and chastened and warmly clothed, worked as he was bidde: to work—not because he wished to, but b cause Harewood toid him to do so ur get out. To find himself working waz an erid- less source of painful amazement to thé Mouse. “Maiheur—si ca fait pas pitie?” he would exclaim, regarding “his 1pron and sabois with unfeigned astonishment. But he cor- ried and fetched and scrubbed and rubbed, living half in a daze, half in a nightmare. He was not resentful, however; he knew bis skin was safer there than in’ Belleville. But the degradation of manual toll crushed him to a state ef gloom only lignted by three fuli meais 4 day and Harewood’s judiciously doled put cigars. He cared nothing for Yolette or Hilde, he ignore] Mehemet Ali, he tolerated “Red id:ng Hcod, he loathed Sie on with a loathing that ‘tured his blood to water. red cause that young man already very busy storirg Bourke he revy had mastered’ him;)Harewood he followed, When Harewcad did not drive him off about his business." All day long.the forts of the south pound- ed away at wonded heights beyond, all day long the migiarss in the interior of the city echor@ wijh the rattle of crums, ‘There were fewer.cabs and omnibuses now: the governmpht, %as constantly seiyng horses for artiljery-and train service. Horse meat, too, beggn to appear in the markets, but the government at first restricted iid sale to certaig) designated shops. ‘Toward the giadie of the week the goy- ernment published an order in the Official rationing thethhatitants of Paris, and as- suming contrél oftevery butcher shop in Bourke: returned that night, the city. bringing with him a printed card, showing their house, their the number us ple “in names, and the iount of meat eoch—i00 grammes daily, enews ‘sald, handing the sue looks an es he card to Yolette “We are also obli Secure three days’ rations at a ime 2 The name of the Mouse did not appear on the. card. They thvented a name for him that served Its purpose. But the alarming part was that the government flatly re- fused to nourish _ Sch ati a om pense, and even suggested sending ber to the Zoo in the Jardin des Plantes... “Never!” cried Hilde, putting both arfhs around Scheherazade’s neck, but the Honess no louger responded, and Hilde looked at her sorrowfully, mourning the change “in her gentle favorite. Ss ad It was Thursday,:October 27. Harewood had gone as usual to. the.war office. Bourke any woncer that hours before a sortie the4 and Yolette sat in the dining room examin- ing the week’s accounts. Hilde moved about her own little chamber, humming her Breton songs. Through the window she could see the Mouse painfully splitting fire- wood under the uncompromising superin- tendence cf Red Riding Hood. “You split too large,” said the child. “Don’t you know how? “No,” said the Mouse, sulkily. “Then—here—give me the hatchet. There. That's how wood should be split.” “Don’t let me deprive you of the pleas- ure,” sneered the Mouse, as she handed him the hatchet again, but the child dis- dained to answer. “Mince!” observed the Mouse; “do they want wood for a month?” Red Riding Hood turned up her nose. “Bon,” said the Mouse. “Fill die of fa- tigue, but there is nobody to weep.” He shrugged his shoulders, picked up another log and chopped on. Hilde smiled to her- self watching the comedy from her cur- tained window. The happy light in- her eyes, the song on her lips—the song that her heart was singing, too—transfigured and glorified her face. In it the childish sweetness had changed to something more delicate and subtle, the purity of contour was almost spiritual, the curve of the scar- let lips grew finer and more exquisite. Strength, too had shallowed the dimple that nestled in soft corners; the beauty of her eyes was indescribable, her every gesture a caress. There were moments when, as she sat thinking in her chamber, the swift tears filled her eyes and her heart failed. At such moments terror of death—his death— brought her to her knees at the bedside. But the rosary was near and so was Sainte Hilde of Carhaix, mended with glue, azure- mantled, serene, still smiling in spite of a missing rose. Hilde sewed at times—not in the dining room where Yolette, demure and silent, lis- tened to Bourke’s opinion of everything un- der the sun. He discussed ethics and mor- als and human happiness; he touched on transubstantiation, on agriculture, on logic. But he never spoke of love. Possibly his opinions were valuable; probably not, for agination. * said Yolette, “that it is going to rain “No,” he replied. A silence ensued. There seemed to be no further excuse for lingering; he rose unwil- ingiy and picked up his accounts. “Must you go?” asked Yolette innocently. It was the first time she had ever asked him to stay. He sat down hastily and real- ized it. She went to a table, sorted some silks, chose a needle or two and presently looked at him over her shoulder as though surprised to see him there yet. He felt this; it confused and pained him. “Perhaps I had better go,’ he said. She apparently did not hear him, and, after a moment, he decided not to repeat the re- mark. Presently she returned to her chair, seated herself, threaded some needles and began to smooth out the embroidery on her knee. He could not withdraw his eyes; her delicate fingers fascinated him. “One, two, three, four, and one, two, and one, two, three,” said Yolette, counting her stitches. He felt himself excluded from the conversation; he looked out of the window and chafed. Had he seen the glance that Yolette stole at him—the instant dropping of the blue eyes when he moved—perhaps he might have felt less injured. He did not; he listened in silence as she began again, “One, two, three, four, and one, two, and one, two, three.” He watched her slen- der fingers guiding the flying needle; these slim fingers were in her confidence; she seemed to be gossipping with every rosy tip, every polished nail. Her head was the slightest bit averted; the whiteness of her neck dazzled him. After a while Yolette dropped the em- broidery into her lap and sighed. Her arms resied on the arms of her chair. One hand dropped quite close to his shoulder. He re- garded it with rising interest. It was white and delicately veined with blue; it looked very smooth and young and helpless. ter a moment he took it naively. It was then that a series of thrills shot through his limbs, depriving him of sight, hearing and a portion of his other senses. He was vaguely aware that the hand he held was responsible for this; he held it tighter. Yolette, perhaps, was asleep. “Are you?” he inquired aloud. “What?” asked Yolette, amazed. Bourke only stared at her until again she turned her head to the window. They sat there in absolute silence. A lethargy, a de- licious numbness settled over Bourke. He weuld have been contented to sit there for centuries. Presently Yolette tried to withdraw her hand, failed, tried again, failed, and resign- ed herselfi—not unwillingly. She was very young. “We will live in New York,” said Bourke, Speaking in a trance. After a silence he added, “in a brownstone house. We will be very, very happy.” “Who?” said Yolette, faintly. “Who! why, you—you and I—” Yolette turned quickly; her cheeks were aflame. “What do you mean?” she de- manded, breathlessly. “Are you—you not going to marry me?” faltered Bourke. His expression was ab- surd. They had both risen; she stood, lean- ing a little forward, one hand resting on her chair. The silence was absolute. After a little she swayed, almost imperceptibly, toward him; he toward her. He dared not touch her again—yet now he found his arms around her waist, her head close to his. It frightened him into speech—a stammering, pleading speech that had a burden not at all complicated: “I love you! I love you, Yolette When he kissed her she rendered him his kiss innocently. His courage revived, and he told her things U:at only she had a right to hear. That, perhaps, is the reason why Mehemet -.li withdrew from the sofa back to the gloom under the sofa. Perhaps, too, that was the reason why Hilde, entering the room from the rear, paused, turned, and glided back to her white bedroom, where, with Sainte Hilde of Carhaix, she began a duet of silence. She had been waiting there an hour, possibly two hours, before the door creaked, swayed, and swung open, and Yolette was in her arms. “My darling! My darling!’ laughed Hilde, tearfully. “I am very,*very happy— don’t cry—why should we? All day long they sat there, arms and fingers interlaced, and night darkened the room before they kissed and parted, Yolette to her own room, Hilde to the front door, where now she always lingered until Hare- wood came back from the city. She stood there dreaming, her eyes fixed on the corner by the Prince Murat bar- racks. He always came around that cor- ner. One by one the signal lamps broke out along the bastions. The stars, at first so brilliant, faded in the cloudless sky. She could see no haze, no vapor, but the air ad- peared to thicken around each star till it tarnished, grew dull, and at last vanished in midheaven. A sudden shaft of cold struck through the street, and now around each lamp and lantern and flaring gas jet a gossamer eclipse began to form that grew iridescent and more palpable every mo- {ment. Once a patrol passed, lanterns swinging—a shrouded, cloaked file of silent men, trudging through the darkness with never a drum tap to echo the clump, clump of their clumsy boots. Yolette came to the door and waited there a few moments with her sister. “Come,” she whispered at last, “do you not know that dinner is waiting?” Neither moved to go. Presently Yolette spoke again: “What is it, little sister?" Hilde was silent. “I knew it,” said Yolette, under her breath. Hilde turned slowly. “You knew it?” she motioned. “Yes.” (To be continued.) a Society is composed of two classes: those who talk war, and the dumb.—Life. cetalogua, quarreled with Sir Francis Polgrav: occasion to irritate the latter by having ail ticpymie which Polgrave abandoned on be- ecming a Christian, and which he wished to have committed to oblivion. cataloguing which he insisted upon having slavishly followed, carrying his system 50 | tion of It. alogved under the title because It was orig- irally issued anonymously. But the most perverse case of his “close classification was the placing of Milton’s ““Comus” under here the masque was first performed. leave a loopitole for ccmmon sense and fuli ess. found his way into the service of the Brit- ish Mus2um an ex-attcrney’s clerk, who by seme influence gained a position of power, which, after the marner of small mind: be exercised to the extremest extert ov his of his underlings, laboring under the noticn ! THE BRITISH MUSEUM Its Growth Recalled by Sir Edward | Bond’s Deat oe CAREER OF. THE LATE - LIBRARIAN | Carlyle’s Bitter Quarrel With Panizzi. IRVING’S IMPRESSIONS Written for The Evening Star. There Las just passed away in Europe a Lbrarian whose career affords an extraordi- nary example of possibilities under mon- archical institutions, of ascendancy from very humble to an exalted position. Sir Edward Bond, who received only the day before his death the coveted title of K. C. B., served the British Museum for a period of cver fifty years, the last ten of which he presided over its destinies as the princi- pal librarian. In 1833, at the age of sevea- teen, he began his apprenticeship in the | government service as an assistant in the putlic record office, then under the charge of Sir Thomas Duffus Hardy, a name | familiar to all students of English docu- mentary history. | In 1837, at the age of twenty-one, young Bord entered on his duties at the British Museum as an assistant in the department of manuscripts. In this department, cata- loguing and arranging manuscripts, he labored rot less than forty years, rising by slow promotion to be the keeper of manuscripts, and in 1878 he acceded to the post of chief librarian. : During Sir Edward Bond's fifty years connection with the library vast changes were wrought in the institution. An ad- mirable picture of the changed conditions from about the periud of Mr. Bond's first asscciation with the library to recent times is afforded by “Espinasse’s Literary Recol- lections,” published in 1593, The Museum Fifty Years Ago. “Fifty years ago,” he says, “it was still Montague house—an extensive red brick mansion, fronted by a high brick wall, through an aperture in which intending visitors passed by a French-looking lodge and were surveyed by the obesest of por- ters, who might have been evolved from the fat boy in ‘Pickwick.’ Montague house has disappeared, and it is needless to say what a different aspect the frontage now jfor a testimony before the appointed to inquire the British Museum owed a «< 1 of its venom to his implacable qu: rels with Panizzi. Carlyle’s he er out of the refusal of the keeper of printed books to have catalogued a larg tion ef pamphiets, newsp br. be: to present their woes, in the hopes little cr nosing to say, he h spokesman of the suffering employ +s thes causing a hopeful ex; wives tried taking in w royal commission that they were underpaid, waited upon dress. The aforceaid officer was note his taciturnity—“having in a kK eral way pruderce to say 1 ing.” He listened to the e3es fixed on the grot time kept si he at las led by Carlyle's BE Carlyle’s spicy affairs of the into a ers ete. ing on the French revolu: which Carlyle wished to use for his “His tory.” Carlyle in an article in the West- minister Review on “Histories of the Fre Revolution spoke of a pamphicts, newspa rs, even street placar the French capit olution known that a similar still larger and more in the British Mus for wamt of a proj fifteen months ago the respec brarian (Panizzi) seemed to be working such a thing. By respectful application him you could gain acerss to his room have the satisfaction of mounting on | and reading the which was a gre ccused obstructing the f historical work was bad progress designate a man who ad owith Breugham and Macaulay and ¢ At Hol- nd House ub-librarian, was an 1 pardonab! to Pantzzi. The quarrel was neve , and years after, when Carlyle was writing his Frederick, he re- ceived an insolent and vindic from Panizzi in reply to a civil r ve letter quest b made to have ss to the books on t shelves of the British Museum. Carlyle's only recourse for getting back was in writ- down in is journal that Panizzi was ne a mas- fat ter.” “an Italian age Irving’s Impresasio: Imagine a librarian of today withholding any Irv- from a writer of Carlyle’s eminen privilege that could be accorded him. ing visited the British Museum in ISL in the sketch book, under the caption, “The Art of Book-making,” gives in his mirth-inviting style an account of his ¢x- periences. He thinks to have found th an explanation of “the extreme fe j of thé press, and how it came to pass th 80 many heads on which natui have inflicted the course of should teem with voluminous produc In the reading room he saw some pal studious personages, poring intently over dusty volumes, rummaging among moldy presents, with its gilt railings, Ionic col- umns and other stately Greek architecture. “Numerous and important changes have been made since 1843 in the structural al- terations and expansions of the library, but the greatest of them ail is the transfor- mation of the grass piat which was inclosed by the four wings of Montague house. What was then a grassy quadrangle has since been covered by the most magniti- cent of reading rooms, peopled from morn to dewy eve by hundreds of students, au- thors, compliers, journalists of both sexes and of many ages, in quest of information of every kind, from that pertaining to the Temotest antiquity down to an unknown or uncertain address discoverable in the Post office London directory, which is not the least sedulously consulted of the thous- ands of volumes accessible on the shelves of the reading room itself.” The author here presents a picture readily Paralleled in our new library. He does not record many humorous incidents which came to his observation, but one which is perhaps characteristic will bear repeating. He gives the story second-hand. A friend relates that he was searching in the cata- logue for the editio princeps of an obscure work of Petrarch. He says: “Besides me was a lady engaged in a different quest, as it proved. She was evidentiy perplexed while she turned over, with a look of weary disappointment, one of those catalogue vol- umes devoted to periodical publications, which are rather puzziing to the uninitiat- ed. With my usual gallantry I offered the lady my aid, and on this being accepted I asked her the precise object of her search. ‘Oh,’ was the reply, ‘I want to find “Brad- shaw.” I am going to Exeter this after- noon, and I wish to know the hour at which my train starts.” “In those who know something of library work this will awaken a responsive thrill, When they recall some s'milar experience with the earnest but misguided searcher. But the most curious instance of ecccnirie reading was that of a library habitue who laboriously, but pe istently, devoured the Encyclopedia Britannica from the beginning ot A to the end of Z, and upon the conclu- sicn of this gigantic work lamented being at a loss for what to read next. After much meditation he found solace in the pages of Mrs. Southworth.” Growth of the Institution. The material concition of the library of the British Museum having been greatly improved, the higher intellectual qualities were rot allowed to lag. The devoted labors of Cary, Panizzi, Jones and Bond, rot only augmented the collection of books, but brought it from a mere store house of} ill-assorted literature into a symmetrival | tecy cf best writings of all lands and tongues, provided: with a thorough cata- logue of its treasures. The printing of that monument of bibliographical lore, the British Museum catalogue, is in a greut treasure due to the efforts of Sir Edward Bond after his asst:mption of the principal litrarianship. If no other service had been performed by him, this boon to biblio- graphers would entitle Mr. Bond to im- mortal fame, as those who have used a Ebrary unprovided with a therough cata- logue will painfully recognize. Hewever grave and awe-inspiring such au institution as the British Museum is to the pious, there is always some humorous feature within its precincts which comes to the light now and then for the deiecta- ticn of the unregenerate. Espinasse, who was an assistanc in the compilation of the telates that Panizzi, having found his books catalogued under Cohen, the pa- Panizzi compiled ninety-nine rules fo far as to cause Scott’s Waverly to be cat- “Ludiow Castle,” the excuse being that This goes to show that any sysiem of cataloguing, ‘‘close or expansive,” ought to During Espirasse’s term tiere ubordinates. It is related that several | manuscripts and taking copious notes of | their contents. In these lean and hungry personages Irving recognized the authors of the day, manufacturing their war seeking in the old tomes before them find wherewith to “swell their own scanty rills of thought.” That the British Museum has not a subserved the purposes of Iiterary pirate but has fulfilled a higher mission, does not need affirmation; and so it is not without profit to recall that within its walls Macau- lay wrote a considerable portion of hts great history. A. P. C. GRIFFIN. THE ROYAL PALM OF CUBA. A Tree Called Blessed of W Part is Usefol. From Current Literature. Not only is the climate of Cuba favorable to the planting of crops whenever the farm- er chooses to plant them, and the lands so | rich that no fertilization is ever required, but nature seems to have, with a beneficent hand, reared many strange trees aml plants to supply the wants of man without the necessity of his planting them himself First among these are the palms, some xX varieties of which adorn the fields of Cuba, giving shade, food and life At the head of these stands the royal palm This majestic tree consists of a tall straight trunk of fibrous wood, supporting a cluster of pennated leaves, like a bunch of plumes on a jong stick. It is a marvel of beauty and utility, yet It is one of the most com- mon of ull trees In Cuba. It is met with most ev here; in the center of broad pasture lands it often stands alone, tall and Every straight; while bordering the cultivated fields of the rich planter it forms shady avenues to his dwelling. Again its seed finds root amid the gloom of the somber forest, sending the tall shaft high up to find room for its fairylike cluster of plumes in the free air above. On the plains it often forms delicious groves of shad on the distant mountain it may be rearing its plumed crest against the xd in the valley below its dark & leaves murmur softly in sweet cadence with the winding river. The palm has been called the blessed tr for every part of it has its usefulness t mankind. Certain me al qualitres ar claimed for its roots, split into strip the siding of houses, bench: As the trunk is without ceater is very pore toward the out as hard as glass, it hard shell of the trunk which furnishes these boards. From this hard, fibrous wood some very pretty canes are made, which take a most beautiful polish. The leaves of the paim grow from the center of the trunk, first in the form of a delicate spire sho and bles . and its in density h is nearly ing up, which, graduaily unfolding inself, forms a new leaf. These leaves continue to grow from the center spire to a great length, forming the clus‘ which, in th case of the royal palm, resembles so much a bunch of enormous plumes. The leaves, when they cannot grow any more, ‘lrop to the ground from the bottom of the cluster, thus making room for the new ones which are always coming out of the center. The bud or root of the center spire, from which the leaves grow, consists of a tender sub- stance buried deep down within the cluste of green leaves, and forms a very palata- ble food, either in the raw sta’ or cooked as a vegetable, or made into a preserve with sugar. One of the peculiarities of the royal palm is the stem of its long leaves. It Is a semi-circular stem, which embraces the trunk of the tree and holds the leaf in place until it withers and drops to the ground. The stem is called the “yagua.” It resembles a thin board, often as long as a man is tall, and the Cuban insurgent, now struggling for independence, makes it serve him a variety of purposes. For example, while I was in the field it frequently served me as a plate by simply cutting off a sec- By soaking in water it is ren- dered pliable, so that it may be fold most as readily as a piece of stiff paper. Thus softened it is folded at the ends some- thing after the fashion of a baker's paper hat, and fastened with wooden pins. In this shape it is called a “catarro,” and serves the Cuban farmer as a water bucket or a washbasin, or a receptacle for milk, lard, cheese, eggs, or whenever a receptack of any kind may be needed. I have seen a group of rebels using a “yagua™ thus fold- ed as a kettle in which to cook their break~ fast of beef and yams. The water kept the fibrous woood from burning. and I was assured that the food thus cooked required no salt other than that which was ¢xtract- ed from the “yagua” in the process of cook- ing. =