Jasper County Democrat, Volume 13, Number 61, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 9 November 1910 — MY FELLOW TRAMP [ARTICLE]

MY FELLOW TRAMP

During the season of the white etar's first visit to Paris I was walking through Eurof>e. I had tramped through Switzerland and climbed the .Alps and was now about to descend, intending to make my way to Paris to be present at the great reception. Pausing to take a last view from a great height. I sat down on the ground and fell to dreaming. I was recalled to myself by a soft voice behind me asking in French: “Can you tell me, sir. how. far it is to Montbard?” j t I looked up expecting to see a woman. Instead the person who had addressed me was a young fellow apparently about twenty, though there was not a sign of hair on his face, and be might have been younger or older. “Montbard? There is Montbard directly north of us. You can’t distinguish the place, for it is twenty-five miles from us in a direct line.” “So far?” with an expression of appointment“I am going that way. Rest awhile, and I will g<» with you.” The young man sa:t down beside me, and we chatted for half an hour. He was one of the most attractive persons I ever met. There was much enthusiasm in him. Everything in which he took an interest he took a deep interest. Tb one who has become blase and finds most other people so such a one is very refreshing. Besides, be was very intelligent and displayed considerable learning. One thing about him amused me. He was very illogical, Everything was felt; nothing was reasoned. At least his reasons were always absurd. For instance, he expressed a firm belief in the divine right of kings because this right was necessary as a basis for their authority. We started down the declivity, but had not gone far before we were overtaken by a diligence, and my young man got aboard. 1 continued to tramp, but I confess the rest of the journey seemed dull and uninteresting.

The next evening 1 reached Montbard, where 1 found railway transportation to Paris, but was obliged to Wait several hours before getting a train. Going into a case to get something to eat. 1 seated myself at a table. and was looking over the menu when a familiar voice asked, ‘•What will monsieur have?’’ The last time I had heard that voice was when my tramping companion bade me adieu before boarding the diligence. Looking up, I saw a waitress standing beside me, and her face was as much like the tramper as the voice. She was looking down upon me with no sign of recognition, and for the moment I considered the likeness® mere coincidence. I gavie her an orffer for supper, but before leaving the'eafe I made up my mind that I was not mi> taken—the waitress was really my companion of the day before. A week later while in Paris, where I had many friends, I attended a reception at the house of a prominent American banker, who then lived near the Bois de Boulogne. The czar had arrived, and all Paris was talking about him. As I entered the drawing room 1 heard a lady, whose back was toward me. say in tones that were familiar:

“Without authority from heaven he would have no more right to rule than you or I.” Moving to a position wherS 1 could catch a view of her face, 1 saw—my tramping companion, the waitress of Montbard. “Who is that lady?” I asked of my host as soon as 1 could find him. “The Countess Nichalowsky.” “A Polander?” “Yes.” “Please present me.” The countess received me graciously, but without the slightest, sign of recognition. I was fully aware that any reference to our former acquaintance would not meet with favor and if persisted in would be resented. I therefore refrained from mentioning either of our meetings, but led.the conversation into the same channels as when we were resting on the Alps. Every topic she handled differently from her treatment of it at that time, but with even greater brilliancy. When 1 begged for permission to call upon her she said. “I am very sorry, but I leave Paris tomorrow at dawn.” I returned to America by steamer from Cherbourg. I am troubled with seasickness and kept my room till the voyage was half finished. Then one day, the weather being delightful and the sea smooth, 1 took my steamer chair and my rug to the deck. L bad scarcely emerged from the companionway when I was startled at seeing seated before me my tramping friend of the Alps, the waitress of Montbard, the Countess Nichalowsky. • I had at least a right to recognize the last named personage and exclaimed: “Why, countess:”

My words were met by a cold stare. “You are mistaken, sir.” she said in tolerable English. “You address Mme. Bourdalone of Southampton.** I apologized and passed on. The lady did not come on deck again during the voyage, but when we were docked I took a position where I could see her as she went ashore. Her maid first went on to the dock, walked back and forth with her eyes well open, then made a sign, whereupon the mistress followed. Curiosity led me to Pinkerton's to make inquiries. They told me that they had been advised of the coming of the Countess Nichalowsky. a Polish nihilist, but too late. A plot had been discovered to assassinate theczaron his way to Paris, but had failed. The enafiteM was implicated