Greenfield Republican, Greenfield, Hancock County, 19 July 1894 — Page 6

"Fraulein Holme, I hate them," she said. "I could never keep them. How could I send them now to my •old mother? They would bring her ill luck—indeed they would."

The matter was. solved by Bernardine in a masterly fashion. She suggested that Marie should buy flowers with the money, and put theui on the Dutchman's coffin. This "idea comforted Marie beyond Bernardine's most sanguine expectations: "A beautiful tin wreath."' she said several times. "I know the exact kind. When my father died we put one on his grave."

That same evening, during table.'d'hote. I3ernardine told the Disagreeable Man the history of the aftioon. He had been developing photographs, and had heard nothinir. •He seemed very little interested in her relation of the suicide, and merely remarked: '•Well, there's one person less in the world." "I think you make these remarks from habit,' Bernardino said quietly. and she went on with her dinner, •attempting no turther conversation with him. She herself had been 'much moved by the sad occurrence: every one in the Kurhaus was more •or less upset: and there was a thoughtful, anxious expression on (more than one ordinarily thoughtless 'face. The little French danseuse was quiet: the Portuguese ladies •were directly tearful the vulgar

She went to put on her hat and cloalc. and found him waiting for her a't the head of the staircase. They passed out into the beatiful night, the sky was radiantly bejewelled,

one direction or another when,in fact, living is only a long tedious •dying. If one has made this sacrifice. everthing else mav be forgiven."

BY BEATRICE HABKADEN.

PART 1.— CHAPTER XI—CONTINUED.

German Baroness was quite de-1 gathered her nerves together again pressed: the comedian at the Bel- 1 and took renewed pleasure in the so•pian table at his dinner in silence.

down on all. Was .thought Bernardine, that Robert .Allitsen was the only one there unconcerned and unmoved? She had •seen him in a different light amongst his friends, the country folks, but it •was just a glimpse which had not lasted long. The young litartedness. the genialitv. the sympathy which had so astonished her during their day's outing, astonished her still •more by their total disappearance. The grufiness had returned: or had it never been absent? The loveiessness and leadenness of his tempera ment had once more asserted them-, selves or was it that they had never ?ai"e the most respectable hotel for one single day been in the back-

the air crisp and cold," and harmless daily becoming more interested in to do ill. In the distance, the yodel- her surroundings, felt that she would ling of some peasants. In the ho- I have been sorry to have exchanged tels, the fun and merriment, side by her present abode for the English side, with the suffering and hope- quarter. The amusing part of it lessness. In the deaconess's house, was that the English people in the the body of the Dutchman. In God's Kurhaus were regarded by their heavens God's stars. I compatriots in the English quarter

Robert Allitsen and Bernardine as sheep of the blackest dye! This walked silently for some time. was all the mora ridiculous because "Well," she said, "now tell me." with two exceptions—firstly of Mrs. "The one great sacrifice," he said Reffold, who took nearly all her half to himself, "is the going on liv ing one's life for the sake of another, when everything that would seem to make life acceptable has been wrenched away, not the ^pleasures, !but the duties, and the possibilities

He paused a moment, and then 'Continued: 'I have made this sacrifice, therefore I consider I have done my part grossing pastime of taking care of without flinching. The greatest one's ill health, whether real or fanthing I had to give up, I gave up:! cied: but yet, an innocent hobby in miy death. More could not be re-' itself, and giving one absolutely no quired of anv one." (leisure to do anything worse a

Pie paused ayain, and Bernardine great recommendation for any pas»was silent from mere awe. time. ."But frcelom comes at last," he This was not Bernardine's occupaiflld, "and some day I shall be free, tion, it was difficult to say what shft When my mother dies, I shall be did with herself, for she had not yet free. She is old. If I were to die, followed Robert* Allitsen's advice should break her heart, or rather and taken up some definite work she would fancy that her heart was and the very fact that she had no broken. (And it comes to the same such wish, pointed probably to a thing.) And I should not give her state of health which forbade it. more grief than she has had. So I She, naturally so keen and hardam just waiting. It mav be months, working, was content to take what or weeks, or years. But I know the hour brought, and the hour .how to wait^ if I have not learned brought various things chess with ^anything else, I have learnt to wait* the Swedish professor, or Russian

•'And then?" she asked with inmost painful eagerness. "And then I shall follow your Dutchman's example," he said deliberately.

Bernardine's hand fell from the Disagreeable Man's arm. She'shivered. "You are cold, you little thing," he said almost tenderly for him. "You are shivering. "Was I?" she said, with a sftort laugh. "I was wondering when you would get your freedom,and whether you would use it in the fashion you now intend." "Why should there be any doubt?" he asked. "One always hopes there will be a doubt," she said, half in a whisper.

Then he looked up, and saw all the pain on the little face.

CHAPTER XII.

TUB MAKES A

DISAGREEABLE MAN LOAN.

The Putchman was buried in the little cemetery which faced the hospital. Marie's tin wreath was placed on the grave. And there the matter ended. The Kurhaus guests recovered from their depression the German Bai'oness returned to her buoyant vulgarity, the little danseuse to her busy flirtations. The French Marchioness, celebrated in Parisian circles for her domestic virtues,from which she was now taking a holiday, and a very cons:derable holiday, too,

r'lotv

+ll°

1,1

ground? ^e peace and quiet which her vvearThese thoughts passed through iness required. her mind as her sat next to her read- But no oue knew who the little ing his paper—that paper which he lady was, whence she had come, and never passed to an one. She hard-' why. She kept entirely to herself, ened her heart against him there' and was thankful for the luxury of was no need for ill-health and disap-. loneliness after stme overwhelming pointment to have brought any one sorrow. to a miserable state of indifference One day she was requested to go. iike that. Then she looked at his I The proprietor of the hotel was diswan face and frail form, and her tressed, but he could not do otherheart softened at once. At the mo-1 wise than comply with the demands ment when her heart softened to him, of his guests. he astonished her by handing her "It is not known who you are,Madhis paper. emoiselle,"he said. "And you are not "Here is something to interest approved of. You English are curious you," Vie said, "an article on Realism people. Whatcanldo? You have in Fiction, or some nonsense like a c.heap_room. and area stranger to "that. You needn't read it now. 1 don't want the paper again." "I thougnt you never lent anything."' she said, as she glanced at the article, "much less gave it." "Giving and lending are not usually in mv line." he replied. "1 think tpld vou once that I thought selfishness perfectly desirable and le gitimate. if one had made the one great, sacrifice." "Yes," she said eagerly "I have often wondered what you considered the one great sacrifice." "Come out into the air," he answered. "and I will tell vou."

.rpnt.lpmsin. ThP

cietv of the Russian gentleman. The

In fact, there was a weight pressing French Marchioness had already sit realiv possible, heen requested to leave three other hotels in Petershof but it was not at all probable that the proprietors of the Kurhaus would have presumed to measure Madame's morality or immorality. The Kurhaus committee had a benign indulgence tor humanity—provided, of course, that humanity had a purse—an indulgence which some of the English hotels would not have done badly to imitate. There was a story afloat concerning the English quarter,that a tired little English lady, of no importance to look at, probably not rich, and probably not 'handsome.

Petershof, thinking to find there

me. The others have expensive apartments, and come year after year. You see my position, Mademoiselle? I am sorry."

So the little tired lady had to go. That was how the story went. It was not known what became of her, but it was known that the English people in the Kurhaus tried to persuade her to come to them. But she had lost heart, and left in distress.

This could not have happened in the Kurhaus. where all were received on equal terms, those about whom nothing was known, and those about whom too much was known. The strange mixture and the contrasts of character afforded endless scope for. observation and amusement, and Bernardine,\ who

And then dominoes with the shriveled-up little Bernardine had unconseiously?put Polish governess] Who always tried ^tier hand on his' arm her face VaS tociviat, and who clutched her tiny f'.-iU of suffering, .'i winnings with precisely the, same

pleasures with the American colony in the Grand Hotel and secondly, of a Scotch widow who had returned to Petershof to weep over her husband's grave, but put away her grief together with her widow's weeds,

of expressing one's energies, either and consoled herself with a Spanish geutleman—with these two exceptions, the little1English community in the Kurhaus was most humdrum and harmless, being occupied, as in the case of the Disagreeable Man, with cameras and cheese-mites, or in other cases with the still more en-

greediness shown by the Monte Carlo female gamblers. Or the hour brought a stroll with the French danseuse and her poodle, and a conversation about the mere trivialities of life, which a year or two, or even a few months ago, Bernardine would have condemned as beneath contempt, but which were now taking their rightful place in her new standard of importance. For some natures iearn with greater difficulty and after greater delay than others, that the real importances of our existence are the nothingnesses of every-day life, the nothingnesses which the philosopher in his study, reasoning about and analyzing human character, is apt to overlook but, which, nevertheless, make him and everyone else more of a human realitv and less of an abstraction. And Bernardine, hitherto occupied with so-called intellectual pursuits, with problems of the study, of no value to the great world outside the study, or with social problems of the great world, great movements, and great questions, was now just beginning to appreciate the value of the little incidents of that same great world. Or. the hour brought its own thoughts, and Bernardine found herself constantly thinking of the Disagreeable Man always in sorrow and always with sympathy, and sometimes with tenderness.

When he told her about the one sacrifice, she could have wished to wrap him round with love and tenderness. If he could only have known it. he had never been so near love as then. She had suffered so much herself, and, with increasing weakness, had so wished to put off the burden of the flesh, that her whole heart went out to him.

Would he get his freedom, she wondered, and would he use it? Sometimes when she was with him, she would look up to see whether she could read the answer in his face: but she never saw any variation of expression there, nothing to give her even a suggestion. But this she noticcd thifc there was a marked variation in his manner, and that when he had been rough in bearing, or bitter in speech, he made silent' amends at the earliest oDportunity bv being less rough and less bitter. She felt this was no small concession on the part of the Disagreeable Man.

He was particularly disagreeable* on the day when the Dutchman was buried, and so the following day when Bernardine met him in the little English library, she was not surprised to find him almost kindly.

He had chosen the book which she wanted, but he gave it up to her at once without any grumbling, though Bernardine expected him to change his mind before they left the library. "Well," he said, as they walked along together, "and have you recovered from the death of the Dutchman?" "Have you recovered, rather let me ask?" she said. "You were in a horrid mood last night." "I was feeling wretchedly ill," he said quietly.

That was the first time he had ever alluded to his own health. "Not that there is any need to make an excuse," he continued, "for I do not recognize that there is any necessity to consult one's surroundings and alter the inclination of one's mind accordingly. Still, as a matter of fact. 1 felt very ill." "And to-day?" she asked. "To-day I am myself again, he answered quickly "that usual normal of mine, whatever that may mean. I slept well and I dreamed of you. I can't say that I had been thinking of you, because I had not. But I dreamed that we were children together, and playmates. Now that was very odd. because I was a lonely child and never had any playmates." "And I was lonely, too," said Bernardine. "Every one is lonely," he said, "but every one does not know it." "But now and again the knowledge comes like a revelation," she Said, "and we realize that we stahd practically alone, out of any one's reach for help or comfort. When you come to think of it, too, how little able we are to explain ourselves. When you have wanted to say something which was burning within you have you not noticed on the face of the listener that unmistakable look of non-com-prehension which throws you back on yourself? That is one of the moments when the soul knows its own loneliness."

Robert Allitsen looked at her. "You little thing," he said, "you put things neatly sometimes. You have felt, haven't you?" "I suppose so," she said. "But that is true of most people." "f beg your pardon," he answered, "most people neither think nor feel, unless they think they have an ache, and then they feel it.'' "I believe," said Bernardine, "that there is more thinking and feeling than one generally supposes." "Well, I can't be bothered with that now," he said. "And you irif terrupted me about my dream. That is an annoying habit you have." "Go on," she said. "I apologize." "1 dreamed we were children together, tand playmates," he continued. "We were nt3t at all happy together, but still we were playmates. There was

Dothiing

we did

not quarrel about. You were disagreeable and I was spiteful. Our greatest dispute was over a Christmas tree. And that was odd, too, for I have never seen a Christmas tree." "Well," she said, for.he had paused.

Whatra long time you take to tell a story." /. "You were not called Bernardine," he said. You were called by some ordinary sensible name. I don't remember what* But you were very disagreeable. That I

well. At last you disappeared and la went about looking for you. 'If I can find something to cause a quarrel,' I said to myself, 'she will come back.' So I went and smashed youi doll's head. But you did not come back. Then I set fire to your doll's house. But even that did not bring you back. Nothing brought you back. That was my dream. I hope you are not offended. Not that it makes any difference if you are."'

Bernardine laughed. "I am sorry that I should have been such an unpleasant playmate," she said. 'It was a good thing I did disappear." "Perhaps it was," he said. "There would have been a terrible scene about that doll's head. An odd thing for me to dream about Christmas trees and dolls and playmates, especially when I went to sleep thinking about my new earner^." "You have a new camera?" she asked. "Yes," he answered, "and a beauty, too. Would you like tc see it?"

She expressed a wish to see it, and when they reached the Kurhaus she went with him to his beautiful room, where he spent his time in the company of his mici'oscope and his chemical bottles and his photographic possessions. "If you will sit down and look at those photographs I will make you some, tea," he said. There is the camera, but please do not touch il until I am ready to show it myself.'

She watched him preparing the tea he did everything so daintily, this Disagreeable Man. He put handkerchief on "the table to serv( for an afternoon tea cloth, and a tiny vase of violets formed the centei piece. He had no cups, but he polished up two tumblers, and no housemaid could have been more particular about their glossiness. Then he boiled the water and made the tea. Once she offered to help him, but he shook his head. "Kindly not to interfere." he said, grimly. "No one can make tea better than I can."

After tea, they began the inspection of the new camera, and Robert Allitsen showed her all the newesl improvements. He did not seem tc think much of her intelligence, foi he explained everything as though he were talking to a child, until Ber1 nardine rather lost patience. "You need not enter into sucb I elaborate explanations," she sug gested. "I have a small amount I intelligence, though you do not seen to detect it."

He looked at her as one might loot at an impatient child. "Kindly not interrupt me," he replied, mildly. "How very impatienl I you are! And how restless! Whai must vou have been like before yoi fell ill?" (TO BE CONTINUED.")

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