Indiana State Sentinel, Indianapolis, Marion County, 12 September 1894 — Page 6

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TIIE .INDIANA STATE SENTINEL, WEDNESDAY MORNING, SEPTEMBER 12, 1894.

THE DYNAMITER'S SVEETHEART.

"The only thine knowii about hr vrJth certainty," said he papers next morning, "is that the wretched 'woman was an asaoolat of the irianr Lamlr.skl.who la believed1, to haw been the real author of this atrocious outrage.- She lodged in the same houje with him. at the boulevard Su Michel; she workixd at the same studio; the relations betwetn, them are described a moat cordial,' and It Is even said that sh was engaged 'to be married to him. '"By this fortunate disaster society la well rid" but, there, you know the way the paper. talk about these things, and how very little reason there Is, as a rule, in all they pay of them. Let me tell you the true story of that 6wet little American woman. She was wnall and sligrht; one of those dainty, delicate, mlynonne New England irls, with ?hell-Iike ears and transparent complexions, who look as If they were made of the finest porcelain, yet spring, heaven knows how, out of roush, upland farm houses. It was in her native Vermont that the hunger of art first came upon Essie Lothrop. You must knov. America to know just how it came, seizing her by the throat, as it were, one day. 'among' the cows and the apple harvest, at eight of some Italian pictures engravel in a magazine. From her childhood upward, to be sure. Es.ie had drawn pictures for her own delight with a plain lead pencil; drawn the ducks, and the lambs, and the will orange lilies that ran riot in the woods; drawn them instinctively, without teaching of any sort, for pure, pure love of them. But thee early Italian pictures, then mn fr the first-time, crossing her simple horizon on the hills of Vermont, roused a fit-roe thrill In that eatrer little lreast of hers. She had heard of art, from a distance, as a thin? glorious and beautiful, which sprang far from New England. Now those four or live woodcuts in the magazine suggested to her mind unknown possibilities of artistic beauty. She said to herself at onw: "I must see these things. I mun see thm with my eye3. I must live my life among them." From that day forth it became a fixed Idea with Kssi:? Lothrop that she should go to Faris and study painting. Where Paris was. what Faris could do for her, she only guessed from th meager details in her common school geography. But with American intuition she was somehow dimly aware that if you wanted an artistic education Faris was the one rirh: place to ko for it. "Faris:" her father cried, when she spoke of it first to hin, in the field behind tho b.irn. "Why. Essie, do tell! That's whur folks are alius getyn up revolootions. ain't it? An' I Ruess them furriners is most ail Fapishes." "But it's the place to stilly art. father." Essie crieii, with her big eyes wide open. "And I mean to study art, if I have to die for it." She didn't know how prophetic a word shf had spoken. Thenceforth, however, life meant but

one thing to Essie Lothrop. She lived In order to work for the money whrch would take her to study art in Paris, tshe was sixteen when that revelation came upon her; sh- was twenty when she found herself, al"ne and a stranger, in the streets of the wicked, unheeding city. Not that she thoughb it wicked. Essie was too innocent to have any fears In commuting herself to the unknown world of Paris. With true American guilelessncss she considered it perfectly natural that a girl of twenty should hire a room for hers if, au cinquleme, in the . Boulevard S:. Mkhtl. and should present herself as a student at Velentln's studio. She had learned a little French beforehand in her remote New England homo; learned il direct from a book, with Just a hint or two as to pronunciation from an older and wiser companion; but she had so muoh o that strange natural tact which heaven has been pleased to bestow on Now England girls, that she spoke tolerably well even at the very outset, and quickly picked up a fair Parisian accent in' the course of a week or two. Sometimes these frail and transparent-looking Yankee girls have mind enough to do anything they choose to undertake, and certainly Essie Lothrop spoke French at the end of three months with a fluency and purity that would have made most Englishmen stare with astonishment. There was joy at Valentin's the first morning when Ksie made her aife.irance. Slight, smiling, demure, with her American ease and her American frankness, she took the fancy of all the men students a.t once. "She Is good," they said, "the little one!" When she dropped her brush, it was Stanislaus Laminski who ' picked it up and handed it back to her. She accepted It with a smile, the perfectly courteous and good-humoied smile of the prirl who had come fresh from her Vermont fields to that groat teeming Paris, who knew Ti o middle -term between her native village and the Boulevard St. Michel. To her, these men were Just fellow-students, as the Vermont boys had been in the common school of her township. She took their obtrusive politeness as her natural due, never dreaming Jean and Alphonse could mean anything more by lt than Joe and Pete would have meant In her upland hamlet. "Is she droll, the little one?" the men students said at first, when she gravely allowed them to carry her things back for her to her room au cinquieme, and even invited them in with smiling grace to share her cup of tea these noisy youths, who lived upon nothing but cigarettes and absinthe. They looked at one another shamefacedly, and stilled their smiles; then they answered: "Mercl, mademoiselle, we do not drink tea. But we thank you from the heart for your omlaMe hospitality." They bowed and withdrew, Laminskl last of all, with a side glance over his shoulder. Then, when they reached the bottom of the five flights of stairs, they burst out laughing simultaneously. But It was a deprecatory laugh. "Is she innocent, the American? She asked ns to tea! Utrin, Jules, my boy! hein, Alphonse! that was a rich one. wasn't it?" But Laminskl lingered behind, and looked up at her window. As for Essie, she sat down, not ona atom abashed, to think over her first day's adventures in the studio. An English girl undr the circumsAnces would have been terribly oppressed by a vague sense of loneliness. But Essie wa3 not It is the, genius of her countrywomen. She sat down and smiled to herself at har day's work contentedly. What nice, friendly young men they had all been, to be sure, and how polite they had reemd to hr. And Valentin himself hii looked approvingly at her first essay, and had muttered t h;ms-lf, "She will di, th? little one." How delicious to be really in Paris, where men and women learn art. and to feel yourself in touch with all those great masters In the Louvre and the Luxembourg! Essie was quite at home at once, as she brewed the tea and drank It by herself In her room au cinquieme. Only she was half sorry to b? quite aline that first afternjon; wh.u a pity those gjodlooking, nice-mann;-red young men hidn't reiliy dropped in to share a cup with her! Next morning she was back at the s:udio early, neU and demure as ever, h-r gulden hair wounl up in the most artivJc coll with charming freedom, and hr sweet child's face beaming innocent welcome to the mn as they entered. The girls looked m e coldly at her, and give h-r a sriff bow; but only th? second day. Before the week was cut they u d ? -stood "tn? American." and vaguely felt thtt, though h-r colt of proprieties wis uiu othir thia th ."r own--sh3 came wlta-

ut a chaperon yet she wa3 entirely comma II faut, and a dear little thing into the bargain, alsov They never laterfered with her; they, lit her coma and gu, recognizing the fact that, äfter all, Americans were Am-.-rk-ans, and "que voulez-vous, ma chere? C'est coanme ca la-bas, allez!" Valentin approved of her. "Tha-t child will go far." he said sometimes, confidentially, to" Stanislas Laminskl. "She has talent.. dJ you see? Talent! bah. she has genius." She has learnt nothing, of course; but she will learn; she is plastic. There's more origIr.ality in that child's little finger .than in all that fat Kertuac's Breton body. Ah. res; she will g far, If you others leave her alone. She Is Innocent, the little one; respect her innocence." Laminskl sat next her and painted by 'jer eidc. He did the best to help her. Often he pointel out" to her when things she did were technically wrong; set her right in her drawings, corrected her fir3t crud ideas of color. Essie, living for art, put her head (on cne -fide and drank it all in eagerly. She was docile like a child; she saw these men knew more about it than she did. and she was anxious to profit as far as possible by their Instruction, aminski liked her; he was so small and so pretty. Like a dainty little flower, Lairiinski thought 'to aimself. With an artist's eye, with a poet's heart, how could he help admiring her? One afternoon he 'walked home with her, and carried her things for her. At the top of the stairs.' she turned and took them from him, smiling. "Will you come in and rest awhile, monsieur?" she apkei. with her innocent frankness. Laminskl hesitated. The others were not by. After all. ' what harm? Why not accept the innocent invitation in the spirit In which she gave it? He stammered a vague acquiescence. Essie flung open the door and preceded him Into the ro m. It was a bedroom of th? common Parisian Jaok-of-all-trades sort, with the bed huddled away into a niche in the background, and the rest, of the apartment furnished like a salon. Essie waved him to a sofa. He seated himself on it, gingerly, very close to the edge, as if half afraid of making himself too comfortable. Essie noticed it and laughed. "But why so?" she aked, merrily. Then her eye fell on an envelope on a table close by. "Ah! a letter from Dicky!" she cried, and took it up and opened It. "And who Is Dicky?" Liminskl asked, gazing hard at her, inquiringly. "My brother," Essie answered, devouring the letter. "He tells me all about our farm, and my father, and thJ chickens." The young man leaned back an 1 watched her respectfully' with a stifled smile, till she had finished reading it. She went through with it unaffectedly to the end. and then laid it down, glowing. Laminskl was charmed at so much natural simplicity. "Dicky tell. m all alwiut our pets at the farm,"' she said, pimply; and to Laminskl the mere mention of the farm wa3 delicious In its naivete. "He tells me about my ducks, and how our neighbor has broken his arm, and thst Biddy, the servant" (at home she would have said "the hired girl"), "is engaged to be married." Then she felt amused herself, to observe hw formal all these domestic details of Vermont society sounded, even in her own ears, when one made French proso of theiw But to Lraniiaski. they

J were still stray breaths of Arcadia.

I supiose vou Kussians can hardly understand what America's like," sho added, after a piuse. just to keep conversation rolling; "but we Americans love it." Laminski started back like one stung. "Mademoiselle!" he cried, angrily. "What have I done?" Essie asked, drawing away in surprise. "What have I said? Why do you start? Surely we Americans can love America?" "A la bonne heurc!" he answered, gazing hard at her in a strung way. "But why treat me like this? Why call me a Russian ?" "I thouirh you were one from your name." Essie replied. taken aback. "Isn't Laminskl Russian?" "Thank heaven, no," th dark young rhan answered, with a fierce flash of his eyes. "I'm a Pole, mademoiselle, and, like all good Poles, I hate and detes: Russia. Call me a Chinaman, if you will, a negro, a monkey; but not a Russian." "But isn't the czar your emperor, too?" Essie inquired, innocently. She was too unversed in "European affairs to understand that a Pole could differ from a Russian otherwise than as a Callfornian differs from a New Englander. Laminski suppressed an oath. Then he went on to explain to her in brief but sufficiently vigorous terms the actual state of feeling between Poles -and Russians. Essie listened with the intent interest of the intelligent American; for, as a rule, with the average Yankee, you may fel pretty sure of finding that he is absolutely ignorant of any piece of Information you may desire to impart to him. but eagerly anxious to know all about it. A great desire to learn and capacity for learning co-exist with an astounding want of information and culture. "Then you are a catholic?" Essie said, at last, after listening to his explanation with profound interest. The young- man Razed at her with an expression of amused surprise. "I am of whatever religion mademoiselle' prefers." he answered, courteously, "except only the religion of the accursed Russians." "I don't understand you," Essie sail, much puzzled. Such easy-troing gallantry was remote, indeed, from the sober, God-fearing New England model. Laminskl smiled again. "Well, we advanced politcians in Euripe," he said, twirling his black mustache, "don't, as a rule, b"long to any religion in particular unless it be the religion of the ladies who interest us." "Oh, how very sad," Essie replied, looking hard at him. pityingly. "But perhaps you may see clearer in time." "Perhaps," Laminski answered, with a curious puckering of the corners of his mouth. "Thoucrh I hardly expect it." "Will you take some tea?" Essie asked. Just to relieve the tension. For the first time in her life she was dimly aware of that barrier of sex which she. had never felt with the young men in Vermont. But these European men are so strange and so different! They always make you remember, somehow, that they are men and that you are a woman. "Thank you." he replied; "mademoiselle is very good." And he sat lookins' on while Essie prepared it. When It was ready he tasted it. He had drank tea in quantities when he was a boy near Warsaw, but never since the first day he came to Paris. "How innocent It is!" lie exclaimed, as he tasted It. And Essie stared again, not knowing what to make of him. From 'that day forth it was the gossip of the atelier that Laminskl had his eyes upon the little American. He walked home with her dally; he took her to cafes more reputable than was his wont; he escorted her on Sundays to the Louvre and to Cluny. The other girl students gave her dark hints at times, which Essie did not untierstand, of some mysterious danger which they seemed to think lay in Intercourse with Laminskl, or, for the matter of that, with any of the other men who frequented the studio. But the dark hints glided unnorlced pan Essie. Clad in h?r triple mail of New England lnnnocence. she never even guessed what the hinters were driving at. These men were gentlemen (as Essie understood the word), students of art like herself; and why should a self-respecting girl be afraid or ashamed of accepting their kind escort to th cafe or the theater? She .walked unharmed through the midst of that strange, unconventional Bohemian Paris, as uneonvention as Itself, by dint of pure Innate goodness and simplicity. ' The strangest part of it all was that the men themselves were silenced by her innocence. "Chut! Not a word of that!" gros Kerouac would exclaim to the laughing group around him as Essie entered; "here comes the little one!" and, instantly, a dtmure silence fU oxi )

the noisy crowd; or if they laughed after that, they laughed at something where Essie's own silvery voice could Join them merrily. "As for Laminskl, he is Informed," Alphonse said more than once, with a ehrug, to Jules. "You would not know that man. He half forgets the Dead Rat, and hasn't been seen for fifteen days at Bruant's." Month by month went on and Indeed a strange change came over Laminskl. He stopped away more and more from the cafes chantants and the open-air halls; he was found continually till late hours of the evening at Essie Lothrop's apartment. "And mind you." said Alphonse. "what is ftrange. it is all for the good motive. Laminski reformed! Is it a good one, that? Take my word for it, comrades, he will marry her, at church.

and settle down into a brave bourgeoi." Mean vhile, Essie painted. Oh, how Essie painted! Valentin's heart rejoiced. Since .Marie Bashkirtseff, no atelier in Paris had had such a promising woman pupil. And Laminski painted, too; the pair f them, side by lde; ehe, with Krace and refinement; he, with fiery force and Slavonic vigor. At last, tho other students began to murmur that if that went much further, allon! that would end by compromising the little one. Laminski's brow clouded when they spoke these things darkly: and when Laminski was angry itboded no good to anyone. However, In' order that nobody should ever say he was seen too often coming down the stairs of that angel's house, he adopted an excellent and saving device; he removed from rnadame's, that Bohemian pension, and tovk a room au slxleme, Just above Essie's, in the self same house in the Boulevard St. Michel. Sacred name of a dog, noVxly can blame a man for being seen at night about his own apartments. And then he employed bis spare hours at night by painting Essie as Ste. Genevieve in a great historical' composition. Whit wonder that Essie Lothrop fell In love with him? All men are human; still -more, all womea. He was so handsome, so clever, so liery, so incomprehensible, so utterly unlike the young men in New England That very incomprehensibility was a point In his favor; it appealed to woman's love of the mysterious and the infinite. Besides, Alphonse was right; strange to say. Laminskl meant it all for the good motive. The more he looked at her. the more vividly did he feel that fate, blind fate, was drawing him against his will to marry that pure and beautiful girl to marry her at church, like an ordinary bourgeois. They "never exactly arranged it. It grew up between them imperceptibly. As he painted her in her simple white robe as Ste. Genevieve, they found themselves addressing one another as Essie and Stanislas, "presqiie sans le savoir." . But step by step, they both of them came to regard it as natural nay, almost inevitable. Essie admired him unspeakably; and. indeed, there was much to admire in Laminski. A man who could paint with such poetical feeling, who could make sueh sweet fancies breathe upon canvas, must have much that was g od in him. And then, his fiery eloquence! Essie loved to hear him, when work was over, pouring forth his untamable Slavonic soul in torrent floods of denunciations against tyrants. She didn't know much about this European world, to be sure, but she had been t.iupht to believe that tyrants were plentiful as blackberries in Europe. Here In France, of course, we were living under a republic, which made it almost as pood as America. But Russia and Germany, and all those other outlying countries well. Stanislas told her the czar was a mons ter, and she had read Mr. Kennan's articles in the "Century," and could well believe it. Once or twice a week, however, it was Stanislas's way to go out at night to some mysterious meeting. On such occasions Essie asked h!im what society he frequented.. Laminski smiled a curiously self-restrained rmile, and answered in a somewhat evasive voice that had something to do with the Friends of Freedom. These Friends of Freedom were often on his lips; Essie didn't exactly know what they were driving at, but she took their plan to be some benevolent scheme for emancipating the people of Poland by touching the hearts of the Russian ofllcials. She fancied they disseminated humanitarian tract. and in that bland belief she went on, unconcerned, with her painting at Valentin's. It was all very dreadful, no doubt, as Stanislas said, this European tyranny but, with art at her door, she couldn't pretend to interest herself in polities. Her heart was absorbed in her work and in Stanislas. Yet she loved his rhetoric. She loved to see him stop in the very act of painting Ste. Genevieve's halo; loved to see him stand, palette on thumb, in hM room au sixieme, and enforce with aggressive and demonstrative paint brush his angry charge against the crimes of the bourgeoisie. Who the bourgeoisie might be Essie didn't quite know, but she understood them to be wicked oppressors" of the poor, which, of v course, was quite enough to justify Stanislas's rijhteous indignation. Ho locked s handsome when " he opened the vials of hij wrath on the heads of the bourgeoisie that Essie just loved to see; , and hear him demolish them. Nothingi could too bad for those wi-ked erpatures. iff half of what' Stanislas said was true about thorn. ' By and by. while Essie was still workins at Valetin's. and L.iiviinsVtjk was vaguely reflecting upon the ways und means by which at last to marry her, all Paris was startled one memorable morning by the terrible news of an anarchist bomb outrage. It was the fim that had taken place since Essie's 'arrival, and il slirK-ked and surprised her. To think people should act with such reckless folic! At Valentin's that day. when the news came In, all was hubbub excitment. Alphonse and tho gn.s Kerouac wer distinctly-of opinion that government should do something. Anarchists should bo caught and fried in butter. The Gascon surmised that it wcull not bo a bad plan to cut them bit by bit into little square pieces in the Place de la Concorde, asa. warning to others.' Valentin himself suggested, with grotesque minuteness, that they might be utilized for purposes of artistic study, by slow oriu-e in ateliers, as models for glt'd?'orial pieces of Christian martyrdoms. Only Laminskl held his tongue and shrugged . his shoulders philosophically. He appetred to be neither surprised nor shocked at the tidings of the outrage. He was Interested chiefly in the subsidiary question of what arreets had been made; and when the paper came In extra special, hot rre-ssvd he glanced at it with some concern, read -the names and descriptions of tie three workmen "detained on suspicion," and, lighting another cigarette wiih a .nonchalant air, went on with his painting. At' home at the B-mievard St. Michel that evening. Essie spoke with some natural horror and loathing of this meaningless explosion. t "How detestable." sh cried,' "to fling a bomb like that, In an open place, where you- may injure anybody! So vrong and so silly! I hope they've caught the wicked people who did it!" . Stanislas gazed at her with up eye3 of tender commiseration. He lal his hand on her golden head. "My child." he said, caressingly, "you don't understand these questions of politics. How. should you. Indeed, who are a poor daughter of the people, a child of toil, born in a free land, from brave tillers of the soil, who oa?t off long since the rotten fetters of tyranny? It is otherwise in Europe. Here we have to fight a hard battle against the strong. We muK use such arms as tyrants leave us. All is fair In war, and it Ls open war now bctwfen the bc;urgeolsie and he friends of liberty. They would kill us If they could; we will kill them in return for it. You see, it is all a fair field and no favor." "But. Stanislas' Essie cried, "you don't mean to say' you approve of these wretches who malm and destroy innocent women and children? If their bombs only blew up tyrants I don't know about that; you t-tee. I'm a woman, and 'I never pretend to understand politics. America, of course, is a free country." (Essie really believed It.) "We have no tyrants. And If all you tell me about tyrants is true, I can almost understand how people who have lost their own father4 or son by the despots'

comma nds,v might do anything almost to get rid of such wretches. But this is a republic, where people are quite free, and I don't know why the friends of liberty should want to kill poor, helpless souls, sitting by chance at a cafe good folks who, perhaps, may hate the tyrants Just as much as they do. I don't ge the use of Indiscriminate rovolutln." Stanislas ran his fingers gently over the smooth, bright locks. It was charming to hear her in defense of the bourgeoisie. The difference between their natures took his fancy. Just as much as it had taken Essie's. . "You don't understand these things, my child," he said, fondling her affectionately. "By-anJ-by. when you've lived a little longer in Europe, and when I've had time to unfold my ideas to you slowly, you'll take a mre sensible vi-nv of the matter. But. after all. why discuss it? Sit down in your chair by my side here, little one, and let me go on reading m those lines of Victor Hugo's." Still, for the next few weeks in spite of what he said, a vague uneasiness oppressed poor Essie. Tr was dreidful to think that dear Stanislas, who wouldn't himself have injured a mous?, should seem to palliate, and even to condone, the hateful crimes of these detestable anarchists. It was dreadful, too, that he should speak of the people who perpetrated such acts by the same name as the one he applied to his own assoelites. the friends of freedom. Moreover, Essie noticed that during those next few weeks, while outrages were attempted in various parts of Paris, Stanislas went out more frequently . than ever to his nocturnal meetings. Strange men came and went most mysteriously "au slxleme." It quite distressed her. Dear Stanislas was s) good, she knew he could find excuses for the wickedest creatures, and 'she loved

him for his charity. But she urged upon. him often that the friends of freedom should protest in the strongest possible terms against these hateful crimes that were now being perpetrated every day; around them. The more earnestly ?he spoke, the more did Stanislas smile and pinch her little ear; but he answered gravely that she was quite right, and. if only he knew hjw. he would do his best to prevent such outrages. Yet what could he say that was of any avail? ' They worked underground in darkness and silence not even the police could discover the lairs of these secret cjnspirators. So things went on f.r a week or two. To Essie's great delight, th more she talked about the wickedness of dynamite, the more frankly did Stanislas begin to agree with her. Sho could quite tinderstand how his poetic mind, misled at first by Its hatred of tyrants, htd failed to dwell long enough at the earliest outset upon the atrocity of these outrages. But It was all ciming home to him. She hoped she had made him feel how wicked these men were, and had enlisted th Fympathies of the friends of liberty on tho side of the poor creatures who sat unthinking In the cafes or churches which the anarchists menaced. , ' At last, one nlht, a litle incident happened which filled Essie's soul with unspeakable foreb xlines. It . was,4 a beautiful spring evening; the horse chestnuts were in bloom; pho leaned out , of her window and looked forth upon the boulevard. A1J the world was promenading. In tho di.-tance she saw Stanislas, coming from tho, direction of the frreat corner fountain. And by his Fide another man, with whom he was talking earnestly. How handsome he looked, and how vivid, dear Stanisias; she loved to see him when he talked with such eagerness. She watched thorn down the roafj- they approached the house. Stanislas was carrying a basket with plngular care. .Essie followed them with her eyes till they rea.hod the gateway. She heard them on .the stairs, still conversing closely. Pure curiosity impelled her to go to her door, which opened upon the landing, and say "Bonsoir" to Srhnislas. As she looked out. Stanislas's eyes caught hers. Ho raised his hat mechanically. As he. did so he gave a start. He seemed troubled and disquieted. For a second the basket almost drpied from his hands; the other man caught it hastily away; -with a gesture of horror 'not tmmixed with anger. He said somelng aloud in Polish, which Essio did not understand. But she knew what It meant, for all that. It me:tn(, "Take rare, stupid!" And then, after a pause, "that was a narrow escape, that time!" Yet even so, she had no glimpse of the truth. She merely felt in some dim way this was a friend of liberty, and that Stanislas and he were engaged in animated political discusLsion. She slank back, abashed that she should have seemed to dear Stanislas to have ben spying and .-. eavesdropping-. Her one strong feeling was a feeling of self-re proach for the obvious untimeiiness of her awkward, intervention. The man stopped up-stalrs in Stanislas's room for two long hours; and Essi, listening hard, could her no voices. That was odd, for, as a rule, when dear Stanislas's friends came, be they Poles or painters, they were noisy enough in all conscience, as she could hear for herself without any need for lis-tenintr. But that evening, not a sound. What on earth could it man? Essie's heart rtood still. Could they be whispering together? And If whlpTinpr, what then? Must not that moan plotting? Plotting to got rid of that terrible czar? Essie'stender little soul couldn't boar to think of it. At la?t the man went,. Essie heard Stanislas come to the door to say "Goodnipriit" to him. "Au revoir, cainarade!" "Au revoir, Laminskl! Courage, mon ami!" and then the heavy footsteps. As soon as they had died away, Essie could stand it no lontrer. She toie quietly upstairs and knocked a gentle knock at Stanislas's door. There was a moment's pause; 1h?n( slowly, hesitatingly, it opened an inch, and through thai timid chink a white face looked out at her. Oh. so white and terrified! Who could have ever believed Stanislas Lamlnskl's face could prow in a moment 'so transformed - and unbeautified? Itfrfghtened her to see it. Put as for Stanislvs himself, after a second's pause he became suddenly Aim',' his color returned, and he burst out laughing. It was ra foolish laugh, such as often comes upön. one In the-moment of reaction after a passing terror. "Ho, It's you. then, dear little one?" he cried, much relieved, bundling something away hurriedly, and closing the cupboard door. "You took me by surprise. I thought It was the concierge, come to ask for my rent, which I' hadn't got ready for him." Eseie looked In his face, and knew he was playing with her. But her own selfreepect wouldn't allow her to say so to him. She only gave a glance of those innocent eyes, and asked him. earnestly: "Stanislas, you must tell me! What had you Just now on the stairs In that basket?" He gazed at her once more with a tender, yet mocking smile. "My little one.", he said, "it was thus that Eve fell; you have too much curiosity. Eggs, eggs, my dear Eesie; and I was afraid of breaking them. See, her is the proof; I've been making an omelette for Lorikoff's sup-' per." And he held up the dish, a small fryim?-P9ni before her. "Stanislas," she cried, drawing back, "you are deceiving me! I know you are playing with me. You ought to tell me this. I can't think what to make of It." He laidihis gentle hand on her bright head once more. "Essie, darling," he said. "I told you long ago. you don't understand, and will never understand, European politics." She let him draw her to his side, and kiss her pale and troubled forehead. But that was all. Then she broke away from him. Bobbing. With a heavy heart, phe rushed down stairs to the lonely solitude of her own little bed room. For the first time in her life since she came to Paris, she was aware of her loneliness. Oh! why had fhe ever left her dear, quiet Vermont to come and etudy art in this terrible Europe? All night long she lay awake. Yet even so. she never for the moment suspected the wor3t. She never once realized it. She only knew that Stanislas had eomo grave political secret he would not reveal to her. and she feared If she knew it she would greatly disapprove of it. Next day was Sunday. Stanislas had told her before he would be engaged next morning, and she watched at the window to see ham go out sat and watched, she kne not why. In an agony of foreboding. AtlavH alio heard blä Up, light and

resonant, on the staircase. He did ' -not look in as he passed to say "Godd morning." That increased her suspicion, for 'twas Stanislas's way. even when going to his political meetings, to "take his sailing- orders," as he p.ayfully phrased it. This time he went rapidly out. without saying a word, and emerged into the street. He was carrying something In the pocket of this coat, nursing it tenderly as he went. Essie's heart stood still. What could Stanislas be bent upon? She couldn't bear the suspense. She snatched up her hat and hurried eagerlyafter him. As for Stanislas himself, he was by no means In a hurry. He strolled gently al.mg, selecting' the least crowded side of the street, and carefully avoiding contact with anybody. Essie followed him, unperct-ived. doirjring his steps as he went, tut pausing behind the trees that lined the boulevard whenever he looked behlni him with a glance of caution. Even now, she hardly knew what it all could mean; she coull not believe such horrors of any one with whom she herself had mixed on terms of affection. Her simple little New England mind cou'.d not grasp the full awesomeness of continental anarchy. Laminski crossed the IV it St. Michel, with a careless glance at N-tre Dame as he pas'-d, and took his way along the quays of the North bank, by the least crowded side, in the direction of the Louvre. Essie followed him. breathless. At the corner by St. Germain I'Auxmois, the man who had spent so long a time with him the night before stood Idly Jouncing. Essie knew him In a moment. As they passed one another, the two men gave a nod of recognition, with a meaning glance. The stranger's eyes semed to ask, "'la everything ready?" Laminskl'3 answered, mutely. "Yes, ready, quite ready." They took no further heol of one another; but Essie noticed that when Stanislas had passed on twenty yards or thereabouts, tiie other man followed him, Just as fhe herself was dMng. with an attentive air, as who should say, "I will watch that you do it." Stanislas turned aside toward the church doors of St. Germain. The bells chimed merrily. People were flocking in and out to mass. Essie 6tojd Still and trembled. Stanislas took a little bottle half imr Teptibly between his left finder and thumb and fumbled for a second with tho unseen object in his coat pocket. Then he turned round with a look of recognition and triumph toward the other man in the background. "See here," he seemed tosay; "I am keeping our compact." At the very same Instant, his eye lighted on Essie. Suddenly his hand faltered; his cheek grew pale; the dare-devil look faded fast out of his eyes, and a terrible fear seemed to come over him at sight of hr. Essie felt she must find out what It meant. She rushed up to him imploringly. Stanislas held a long, round cylinder of iron in his hand. With a gesture of fierce love Essie flung her arms round him. His face grew deadly white. He tried to unwind her arms. "Take care, darling!" he cried. "Run as far as you can! If it explodes. It kills;. you. It is not for such as you. Go, go; it's loaded!" He raised his arm to fling It. A bomlj! a bomb! Essie knew what it meant now. A ghastly light burst in upon her. These, then, were the methods of the Friends of Freedom! She seized Iiis hand in her horror. "Stanislas," sho cried, wildly, "you shall not do it. You should not burden your foul with that awful crime. Though I die, I will save them. Though I die, I will save you." And she caught It in her hands, and tore it fiercely away from him "Essie, Essie." he shrieked, in an access of mad remorse, "it's going to burst! Fling it away! Kling it away from you!" But Essi.' held it still, and rushed out with a sudden thrill of heroic resolve into the wide open space between St. Germain and the Louvre. She waved one arm around. "Danger! Danger!" she shouted. The crowd, aghast, fell back to left and right. Stanislas rushed after her, and strove to wrench It from her grasp. But Just as he approached her, Essie dashed it on the pavement by the rails of the Louvre, well away from the crowd of awe-struck people. Whatever came of it, she would save those innocent lives, she would save that guilty soul from the consequences of its own unholy endeavor. A crash! A Hash! A white cloud of dense smoke! Stanislas Laminskl clapped his hands before his face. Essie stood there, immovable. When the cloud cleared away, broken fragments littered the pavement by the rails, and two bleeding corpses lay mangled on the ground Laminski's and Essie's. Not one other was hurt. She had saved the innocent. "She meant to set fire to the Louvre," said the pipers, "but, owing to a fortunate scuffle with her accomplice, the bomb exploded prematurely."

A TAHAXTH.A IX TUE CAIl, And Hie Eiprens Mranmgrr Cnptored It In I!la Dinner Itucket. A young man wearing a seersucker coat, and with much excitement, minpled with hin bead a of persplra tioxi on his face, came into the smokinx car of the Hrle railway train as it was petting along towtrl te ire.vljws of Orange cnity the other day. He carried a dinner bucket in one hand and ircie its lid down with the other. He was tht express messenger. "I've bagged something." he exclaimed. "Can any one tell me what kind of a pun it is?" A bl- man with long- whiskers and hair and a cowboy's hat, who was smoking strong plug tobacco in a clay pipe, said: leinme see it." The yountj man held the dinner bucket at arms' length and raised the lid. The big man laoked into the bucket. "A 'rantuly. by cedar," he said, and too the hucket from the younj man. "A t'rantuly, as sure as guns!" he continued. "A citizen of Bermudy, this chap is. And a beauty, too." The biar man trot out of his eat and passed the dinner pail arounii amonir the passoncers. It was nearly half full of something that seemed to be all hair an l claws and eyes. No one seemed pleajsed with the sierht except the hirsute bis? man. It was a tarantula, sure enough. A unanimous request was made by tiie rest of the pns'ensrera that the hideous spider lie pitched out of a winVw. Iut the bir man gazed at the deadly tiling with undisturbed interest. "Whre did you run ag'in him?" he askel the express messenger. "Came oat cf a bunch of bananas In my car," replied the young man. "I cornered him, ant he Jumped Into my dinner bucket and I shut him in. What is he good for?" "He's a first-class benefactor to the coroner when he's to home," said the b g mon. "If there is any feller citizen of your'n that you'd like to see have a funeral at his house, Jist take this stowaway from Bermuda home with you and turn him in your feller citizen's garden. If your feller citizen fools around much in his garden, you'll see crape on his door in less than two days. The t'rantuly is pizen for keeps to them as hain't been vaccinated for t'rantullies. If 1 was you. young man, I'd take this chap and let your locomotive run over him. A K'l. strong loeimotlve is about the onlv th.ng that kin tackle one o' thee chaps anil make a success of it." The big mnn handed the dinner bucket back b its owner, who took it and carried it away. When the train left the next stallen he came in and said the train had met the tarantula, and that twenty feet of prease spot and a pint or so of legs and hair had Indicated that the locomotive had won. N. Y. Sun. A Square Dnahel IIox. A bushel box Is coming into use with market men, and by reason of being square Is very economical in the way of packing. It is made in three style, one all slatted, another with a slatted bottom and sides, with solid ends, and the third with solid ends and close bottom and sides, bound with galvanized iron. In fact, it is a galvanized bound lox. These boxes are very convenient for handling potatoes, the vegetables being picked up into the boxes in the field and left In them until sold. Of course other crops can be. handled In this way, as cucumbers, tomatoes and apples. The measure of these boxes Is Hil2, that being a bushel without piling. Hardwure. , Mninlenon's Cutlet Curl Paper. It was the brilliant Mme. de Main tenon who first introduced eoHellettesen papilotes, or cutlets in curl papers, lin ord-r 'that the trimmings m!t;ht s.ive the delicate fingers and digestive organs of her sovereign ami patron firm tha grease. S:nce her day a chop never goes to a French gentlemnn'a table without curl papers. N, ,Y. World. . . : . . Jk

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