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7‘Georgette,” he interrupted reproachfully "‘have you so little faith in my love ‘3 have ‘you so soon forg‘ “pm ail I said to you under 'these very tram. when we plighted our troth 2" “HO‘V could I f-mget '2" “Then trust me dearest, and do not fear the future. It comes to us smiling, with both hands fu1_1 of blessings.” “And heâ€"has he answered your letter? ‘whajliid he say 2" V “You forget that I out myself adrift from them two years ago, when I gave up the pro- fession they had chosen for me, and turned from the sandy desert of the law into the flowery fields of literature. From their point of View, 1 have committed social suicide ; they have formally washed their hands of She started,'and the color rashea to her “face. “You love this spot? so do I,” said the young man, as be stretched himself on the guess at her side. “It; was in this very even- ue, my darling, when these leaves were young, that you spoke the three sweet. words which made me the happiest man in France.” “What did he not any, rather ‘2" returned Etienne, laughing “You don't expect; me to repeat it all, I hope ‘3 Why do you look no scared, child ‘.7 You know that; nothing he can sayâ€"nothing anyone can any or do would make me give you up." It was a narrow walk, shut in by trees and quaint clipped hedges, with grass under- foot, and leaves overhead, green. shady, sol- itary. Near where they eat was a little "fountain. and the statue of a water-nymph, in a mossy marble basin. The murmur of 'the crowd reached them vaguely, mingled with the rushing of water, and the music of '3. dismnt baud. « “My poor little love !" he murmured, rais- ing her hand to his lips. “What a happy inspiration it was of mine,” he went on nit -r a moment’s pause, “to take lodging-4 in the (let, dull old house in the Rue des Ecclesâ€" 7iittle I dreamt that I should meet my fate under that roof ! Do you know that it was your voice that decided me to take the rooms ‘3" “My voice 2” “When the concierge showed them to me you were singing over your work in the story above. I asked him whose was that exquisite voice, like a chime of silver bells? It was a little flower-maker, au sixieme, he told me whom the neighbors called ‘Miss N ightin- gale,’ and it was worth five francs a month extra, he assured me, to have her for a. fel low ledger." Georgette laughed and blushed. “What a compliment from old Podevin l” “I quite agreed with him, and we came to terms on the spot. I found that my mu- sical neighbor had a face that matched her voice, and if ever there was a case of love at first sight it was mine, Georgette. My heart went out to you, dear, from the moment when first your sweet, shy, blue eyes met mine.” "And mine to you,” she whispered. “Is that true ‘2 then why did you take such trouble to avoid me, little coquette ‘3" “Now that is ungrateful. Was I notâ€"" “You were the kindest and most obligiug of neighbors, I admit,” he interrupted; “but you were as shy as a bird. I seldom caught a. glimpse of you except we met b y chance on the stairs, and then sometimes, instead of stopping to speak, you would dart past me like a flash of light." “My time was more valuable than yours, you see,” she explained. “I work in earnest, while you only play at work. You need not look dignified, you know it is the truth. If you had no other resource but your pen, no rich relations in the background who â€"’ “What would they say if they knew that â€"tha.t you were betrothed to a. common work girl!" she gslfed Wi-t‘h‘P‘tl'Ollbled snfile. _ __ How Georgette Ks pt Tryst. “Well, if it only brings me bread and cheese, and you, I shall be contented,” he returned. “I know. Butâ€"but perhaps It is selfish of me to let you sacrifice your prospects for my sake,” she faltered, looking at him in wistful doubt. “Perhaps some day youwill ragretâ€"" It wasa fete day at Versailles, and the :palace and grounds were crowded with holi- day-makers from Paris. A golden September afternoon was waning to its close. The au- tumn sunshine, low, but clear, lay in long shafts of light across the quaint and formal gardens, and glittezed in the spray of innu- merable fountains, tossing, falling, splashing, sparkling, on every side. The air was full of iha laughirg, liquid sound “DH it really makefyou happy to know that I loved you. Etienne? I am so glad," the girl replied, letting her hand rest for a moment on his dark curls. “But my love can never 1» to you, dear, what yours Is to me, because you have never known what it is to be utterly alone and uncared for, as I was t 11 I‘met you, six months ago)” “Ah, do not expgct too much from it, Etienne.” U “They do know it," he answered quietly. “IA‘yvrote t9 rpy faith.“ 30qu days. agffi’ The croVVd had gathered thickly round the ‘Grandes Eaux, that is, the glam, jeta in the “Basin f Neptune,” and “Apollo,” leaving the remoter parts of’the grounds compara- ‘tively deserted. In one of the lonelieat of the green and shady ollees 9. young couple were slowly sauntering. The girl, who was dressed with the dainty neatoees character intic of a Parieian ouvrlere of the better 018.35, had taken off her hat, in order to decorase it ‘with a. spray of ivy, while her companion held her paresel, and Watched her in admin .ing silence. “Georgette, how lovely you are !" The a‘omark aeempdrto escape _him involuntarily. “In is my hat, not my face, you are to ad- mire, if you please,’ she returned, with a. de- mure little glance at him, as she put it on again. “Look, doesn't the ivy make a pret- ty trimming i" “Charming; the frame is worthy of the picture. Suppose we sit down on the grass here for a few moments, that I may admire it at__xny leisure?’ “Yei, let us. I am so fond of thii place,” B119 responded. The sunshine touched her: wavy brown ~hair with gleams of gold, and brought a tinge of rose to the delicate pallor of her face ; a face which, in repase, had a. look of patient melancholy, an if already life’s shadows had 'fallen upon it. But when, glancing up from her task, she met her lover's eyes, in bright- ened all over with a smile so sudden and aweet that he was dazzled. His companion‘s face clouded. BY BL E. PENN. “Superstitions child! You will let me see that letter, won’t you? I shall not sleep ti‘l I know who is your mysterious cor- res pon ient. ” “Ia mansieur jealous, for example ‘2" she asked, throwing a laugh’ng glance at him over her shoulder. “If so I shall not accdptvit,” was Georgette’s answer. “Why '3" her lover demanded, as he fol- lowed her upstairs ; “surely it would be n. 8091011199" H “No; if you make them for others you wi_anever qun‘ thepgjourgglf, the_y_ 89y.” “Weli, 'come up to my landing, and I will satisfy your curiosity as soon asI have light- ed the lamp, Where is my key ‘2 ah, there it is I” ‘She scrutlnized the direction with a puz z'ed look, then shrugged her shoulders, and putthletteg ipto her goclget. “Perhxps it is an oraer for flowers,” she remarked. “For orange-blossoms, hein ?" suggested the; 9‘.d Erantwith a sly g_la1_1_ce a); Etienne. _ She unlocked her door and entered, while her companion s‘ood outside, looking in at the humble little room whcsa threshold he had never crossed. The moonlight filled it, giving it a dreamy, unreal look, shawing the little white bed in an alcove, the work-tabla with its pretty litter of half-finished flowers, the bird cage and plants in the Window, and his OWn photograph on the wall, with a print of our Lidy of Lourdes above it. Every- thing was as daintily neat and trim in Geor- gette haxsalf, and the room was sweet wi‘h the scent of mignonette. “It’s a gentlemm’s wrifing anyhow,” he reggated. “Not the L ast in the world,” he protested, “135x gply curiouq.” “Ban 3011', Jurunet ! andthou too, Mignon, said the girl, as she entered, greeting her feajhared and fun‘sd _co_mpz_u_\ions: Then came the loiter'ng walk homewarda along the br l'iant streets, where all Paris seemed to be sitting outside the cafes taking its cigar and “cha.sse”â€"over the Pont Neuf, Where they paused to look at the moon in the river, and a: into the libyrinth of quaint old-world streets of the classic Quartier L11;- in.‘ It was nine o'clock when they reached the Rue des Eco‘es. As they passed the concierge’a den, the lat- ter, a 511tu old man, in a hollaud apron and tasselled smoking-cap, put out his heai and caued them back. “A letter for you, Ma’dmsalle Georgette. Came by the midday post. A man’s writing," he added, as he han i_ed it to her. “I have no gentlemen correspondents, Mamieur Podevin ” The canary responded with a. shrill chirp, While the cat jumped on to her shoulder and purred a welcome. When the lamp was lighted she came towards her lover, who was waichiug_her_with an hls heart in his eyes. Her hair, damp with the night dews: lay in loose curled rings on her forehead; It was pleasant to be borne swiftly through the wide, dusky landscape, alongside of the sweet Seine, dimly shining in the starlight; past Saint Cloud and Suresnes, with their pretty villas buried in foliage; pant Puteanx with its market-gardens, and Asnieres with its flotilla. of pleasure-boats,:till the lights of Paris began to sparkle round them, the vague white glare of the electric light show- ing where the Place de l’Opera lay ; the long lines of lumps on the exterior boulevards stretching awaylin apparently endless per- spective on every side. Pre‘ently all the fountains ceased, and there was a. sudden hush and stillness in the air ; a sense of coolness, freshness, moisture; an odor of wet earth and grass. The water in the “Basin of Neptune ” subsided into stillness, though its surface was still fretted with ripples like a miniature sea, and the great metal groups of Neptune and Amphit- rite, Proteus, and the strange sea-monsters, dri,~ped and glistened in the last rays of the setting sun. An hour later Georgette and her lover left the grounds, and made their way to the station, where a train was just starting for Paris. “ ‘Aimer, Bfignterâ€"voila ma vie !’ ” she broke Into melody as naturally as a bird sings. “But do you know that it is getting late ‘2” she added, looking round. Au d, indeed,-whi13 they had been talklnlg the golden afternoon had crept away. Shad- ows were lengthening on the slopes, and in Eheéerny hollow: of the park it was already us . “Sogwhen I share your tent in the plea- sant land of Bohemia. I shall have nothing to dog]! day count gly fingexp ?j’ _ “You ;vill have nothing £6 do but to love me_‘a._n}i_ be happy.” “Contented without fame or riches 2" 311’ questioned. smiling. “I thovght you were ambitious ‘2” “So I wasâ€"once, but there is no room for ambition in a. heart that is full to the brim of love. After all," he added philoaophically, “What the happier should I be for riches or renown T I have set up my tent in the pleas- ant land of Bohemia, where ‘here is no shame in a. shabby coat, where poverty is pictur- esque, and even starwtion has its poetical side.” Georgette raised her eye brows. “It is plain that whoever first said so never felt it," she commented, drily. Something in her tone made her companion look round at her face. “Dcar, brave little hands ! I never loved them so well. Thank heaven, they will not bags to tng _much_ longerz’: She smiled, and pagsed her hand over his haiyflagain. He se‘zed her fingers and cwered them with kisses. Eifilenne was silent. A curious chill crept ovvr him ; a sudden shadow seemed to have fallen on the bfight day. There was a jam- ring sense of lncongruiuy in: the association of Geo: gette with such grim realities as want and hardship. He looked at the sweet. cour- ageous face, the fragile figure. the delicate little hands that had been forcel to fight so hard 3 battle for hare existence, and his heart swelled with pity and a. generous sort of shame as he contrasted his easy, indolent life with hers. ‘ Georgette, how you said that! One would almost think that youâ€"" , “That I had knewn that poetical pain my- self?’ she added, with a smile. half aad, half ironical. “Perhaps I have. You see I have only these”--holdiug up her handsâ€"“to keep the wolf from the door, and if work fails me for a time, he pezps in. Ah, he is not in the least ‘poetical’ I assure you, but the ugliest monster you can imagine.” She shuddered, then broke into a. laugh. “You look as startled as if you saw him at this men out peeping over my 211 )ulder. Why do you talk of auch horrors, Etienne? Let us change the subject." “Oh, yes, Ma'amselle Georgette is gone, sure enough,” the old mm to‘d hlm, coolly. “She came down shortly after nine o’clock, and told me that she was obliged to leave immediately. She paid her term and fetch- ed a fiscre herself. The driver carried her bax down-stairs, andâ€"paf ! she was gone; all in a breath. as one may say. But she left a note for you, monaieur ; that will ex- plain it, no doubt." Enclosed was the 1 tter which she had re- ceived on the previous evening, together with a few lines in her own writing. He put the former aside without a glAnce and took up her huffied'notg. “If a marriage with me,” Georgette wrote, “would ruin all your prospects, and spoil your life at the outses, as he says, I must never be your wife. I love you too well to injure you so cruelly, and therefore, though it tears my heart, I must sayâ€"adieu I For- givflg mo, my belovgdfaudforget me.’ - “th could you not fiell me that at first?" Etienne asked impatiently, snatching it from his hand. “Dear 10v ¢, I wri a with a breaking htart to bid you farewell,” it began. “The letter I received last night was from your father. When you have read it you will know why I have left you.” One glance showed him that Georgette was not there, and It showed him something else. A11 her belongings had vanished. The team was stripped and bare. He hurried down-stairs to question the cnnpjgrge. Etienne uttered a. pannionata exclamation. “My father ! ah ~I understand. He knew that I should never give her up, so he has takgn the surest means of driving her from v The léttei‘ ended there, butuoverleaf there was a postscript, which had evidently been added on a sudden impulse at the last mo- ment. “My courage fail: me. I cannot, cannot write that cruel word, "farewell.’ I must haves hope, however slight, to keep me “The weather is breaking,” the concierge remarked, when he brought up the roll and cup of cafe au hit for his lodger’s “first breakfnsh” "Yeste day was the last of the summer.” “The last day of summer.” The young man found himself repenting the vsorda thoughtfully as If they contained some hid- den meaning. It was after eleven o’clock by the time he had finished. He went' up to Georgette's room and tappe l at the door. It was not latched, and as his summons met with no re- ply he gently puahed _lt open_snd logkpd in. - The Expre'ssion of pleas-arable anticipat'on faded suddenly from his face, giving place to ong of bignk peyplex'vijy 912d aqton'ayment. Georgette was leaning over the barristers with the lamp in her hand, looking down at him. There was an expresfion on her face he had never seen there before ; a rapt, far- away g-tze that gave it aspiritual look. The moment he glanced up at her she vaniahed into her own room, and all was dark. Etienne passed a restless night and woke [Ate next morning, feeling unrefreshed, and with a strange sense of oppression and un- easiness. It waaagloomy day, with a. leaden sky and a chill wind. Many a. time in after years Etienne saw her in dreams, bending towards him with th A rapt look in her eyes, with the shadows around her and the light upon her face. Touc'hed and surprised by her unwanted effusion, he went slowly downstairs, pausing when he reached his own landing, to look up; Ҥu be it,”rhe said, gravely ; “you shall tell me your secret at your own time. Good- night, Georgeth. ” As he bent towa (13 her, with a. sudden, impul~ive movement. the girl put her arms round his neck, and drew his head down, kis- sing him again and again with quivering lips, then took the lamp from his hand, and turn- ed gway. _ She looked up at him piteously. “Nut nowâ€"twmorrow,” she repeated, hardly abgve‘a whigper: “Do not part from me in anger toâ€"nightâ€" do not, my darling! trust me till to-mor- row.” H's/looked at her a. moment with troubled eyes, but there was no resisting the pleading of that sweet. tearful fees. “Georgette X" Etienne exclaimed, "you promised to show It; to me.” “N at nowâ€"to marrow,” she faltered. "To-night ; at once, if you please," be persisted, his face darkened ; “it is no ordin- ary letter to cause such agitation. I have a right; to see it ; give it to me,” and he laid his hand on hers. He let go Her hand, and turned from her, his face dark with jealous anger. She clasp- ed her hands upon his arm, and detained him Smiling still, she unfolded its but she had hardly glanced at the first lines when For f we changed The color faded out of it and- denly ; the light from her eyes, the laughter from her lips She glanced rapidly down the page, then hastily refolded it, and thrust it into her pochpt._ _ fatigue had made her paler than usual, but her eyes shone like twig stare. “You look at me as if you had never seen me before," she said smiling. “I have never seen you look so sweet.” ‘ ’Thank you ; but you say that every time we meet, do you know I" “Because at every meeting I discover a fresh beauty.” “And never any defects 1" He took her face between his hands, and looked at it critically. “Yes ; you are too pale, but that is soon remedieé. Oneâ€"Ame,” he kissed her on esch'cheek; “there, that: is better. Now look at me; let me see if your eyes are laughing as well as.your_lips.’: “You wi‘l let me read it for myself first, I suppose ‘2” No, you are not to look over my shoulder,” she added, laughing and drawing back ; “have patience." Thsyuwere laughing when she raised them to his fine, but the look of paasionate ten- derness they encountered made them droop with sudden graviry, and brought a. still warmer tide of color to but face. “fly sweet !" he whispered, banding till his bearded cheek touched here 1, “it is a de- light to look a‘. you ; it is joy D love you, and to be loved by you is heaven itself. Is there another mam in Paris, I wonder, so hxppy as I am at this mqment ‘3” In. “Hush 2” she interposed, putting her hand to his lips ; don‘t boast. of happiness, that is the way to lose it.” He laughed. “Another superstition ! How many more have you in stock? And now for the letter. Lat me hold the l:mp w_hile you open it.” ‘ -‘ Good evening, M. PodEVin,” Etienne be- gan ; “yflu don't remember me, I see ; but I wattle. logger of yours t_zwo yqars _a_go." _ “I recollect you now, though I did not at first. So many lodgers come and go, you nee, like the swallows, in the course of two years,"_he saiq, apologetically. ' “And it is But- selaom, I'suppoae, that they come back to the old neat ‘3 “Well, it ha. pens sometimes,” the other returned, knoc ing out the ashes of his pipe against the door-post. “For exam Is, there is Georgette Trevilleâ€"you remem er her? the little ouvriere on the sixth ; we used to call her ‘Ma’smielle R0ssignol’â€"” “She came back to her old rooms a few weeks ago. There was some excuse for my not recognising her. She was so altered, I thought it was her ghost.” “Had she been ill? ' “That was what I asked her. ‘No,’ she said, ‘she had not been illâ€"she had only been starving.’ " He hailed a. fiacre and drove across the wacer to the familiar straet. The old con- cierge, with the holland apron and tasselled cap of yore, was smoking a post prandial pipe at qhe door of his lodge: Th3 old: mart‘peered at him tKrough the duzk, and then nodded. “Yes, yes,” he assented; eagerly ; “is she here now ‘2‘ The Vyoung man uttered an exclamation that was like a cry of pain. "G Jud heavens! It 6 nnot baâ€"” The other nodded at him grimly, as he preygpd the tpjoacqo fiownjn pie Pipe._ But where waz he to look for her ? That was the question he asked himself as, after leaving the Sc. Laz ire terminus, he stood hesitating in the Rue d'Amsterdam. Then it occurred to hlm that she might possibly be lodging in her old quarters in the Rue des Ecoles once more, or at any rate he might hear of her there. . “You would not have doubted it, if you had seen her. She had been short out work for several weeks, she told me ; and to be short of work meant to be short of food, you see. It is a common case enough, mansiaur.” Efienne was silent ; there'aaé a choking sensation in his throat, and a mist before his eygg.‘ The old man watched him cqrigusly. He hastened after her, celling to her to stop, but she only quickened her pace ; and before he could overtake her, she had reach- ed the terrace round “Neptune’s Basin,” and was lost in the crowd. He hurried to and fro, looking for her eagerly among the groups who were loitering round the Fount- ains or sitting under the trees. Nowhere was she to be seen. He went over the same ground half a dozen times, always returning to the walk in the hope of finding her there, till at length he paused in be wilderment and flannel-nation, and realized that he had lost er. At the first moment he had been too shocked and startled to speak ; had she 1m- agined that his love died a sudden death when he found her no piteously changed ‘2 The thought gave him a. pang of self- reproach. Ele longed to fold her in his arms and tell her that never before had she been so dear to him. “You were good friends, you and she, in the old times. She will be glad to see you again, peuvre petite. She has been ill the last few days with a. sort of low fever, and has not been downstairs.“ “But she was at Versailles this afternoon?" His companion stared at him “Not like- Still, he did not speak ; he did not stir. The look of rapturous expectation had faded from his face. He stood as if he were turned to stone. Was this Georgette, with the wan, white cheeks, the hollow eyes, that looked at him With such forlorn appeal ; the pale lips, that seemed to have forgotten how to smile ? There was a moment of silence. Before he recovered himself sufficiently to speak, Jefore he could even put out his hand to detain herâ€"to his astonishment, she ab- ruptly turned from him, and passed swiftly on down the walk. \Vhat did it mean? why had she fled from him '2 Could it be that she had misinterpret- ed his manner when they met 2 At length, at the upper end of the glede, a woman’s figure appeared. He could not yet distinguish the features, but he knew the shape, the walk, the dress. It was Geor- gette. His first impulse was to rush to meet her, but be restrained himself that he might enjov the exquisite pleasure of seeing her come to him. His heart swelled with a joy so keen that it bordered upon pain, and tears rushed to his eyes. - Still the vhlk was solitary. To right or left there was no approaching figure. Even as he spoke, the waters were releas- ed, and he heard once more the familiar mu- sical soundâ€"the rushing, splashing, rip- pling. falling all around him. “She said ‘when the fountains play,”‘ he muttered, consulting his watch. “It is after four o’clock now; will they never begin ? ’ Etienne wan first at the trysting-place; that quaint green avenue where Georgette and he sat and watched the fountains, two years ago. Not for a moment did he doubt that she would che. He knewâ€"he felt that she would keep her word. He longed impatient- ly for the meeting; yet, mingled with that feeling there wesa vague dread which he could not undereand and could not shake off. from despair. Dearest, in two years’ time you will be your own master ; then, if your love is unchanged, we may meet again. On the first Sunday in September, two years hence, go to Versailles, and in the afternoon, when the fountains play, wait for me in the ‘Yerte Allee' where We sat yesterday. If I live 1 will come to you. Till then, my best beloved, adieu l” ‘ He Went out at once and spent the remain- der of the day in searching for her, enquir- ing in every quarter where she was known. But all his eflurts were in vain. Her lonely little figure had drifted out of night, and was lost in the great labyrinth of Paris. Two lung years must pass before he cguld see it again. A chill September afternoon. The sky was cm ered with low-hanging clouds, the wind had a. wistful sigh in it; which promised min. It was unpropitious weather for a fete at Versailles, nevertheless there was no lack of visitors, and to one of them, who was slowly pacing the “Verte Allee,” this quiet, cool, grey day, full of soft mists and moisture, had a pensive charm of its own, like a pic- ture in neutral tints, or an air in the minor keg. r Etienne read it through twice and mechan- ically refolded it, then took up his father’s letterâ€"a. pitiless letter, every word of which must have gone iike a knife to her heart. “ Sixty minutes past ten ; I can scarcely write ; my sight: in troubled ; my lamp is go ng out ; I did not think it would be such agony to die. Eleven 1 uHére followed some quite illegible shame- ters. Life had ebbed. On the following mggning he ya}! foulgd on file flow". I. sfionuiufl. ; uly pulse I! fill 0U. “Fifty minu'es past ten; Iam almost stifled ; strange ideas :I a lme ; I can scarce- ly breathe; I shall not go far; there are aygpgoma of_ms_.dnesa. - _ r iffrweocould have looked through the win- dow and studied this strange performance we could have sgen_t_he fqllgming stgggg : _ First atageâ€"Reddened face “andwblood- Iath eye_n. ‘ “ It isn’t true, is it T" asked Rollo, as he finished reading “ The Pied Piper of Hame- lin ;” “ it isn’t true, is it, that he could play on his pipe so that the rate would go 011' and drown themselves '2” “ W41," replied Rollo's father, “I don t know a3 it than ; I think may be true. Your U.‘ ' George can pin the flute so that it will were a cow into the- river and drive all the dogs in the vicinity howling crazy. Yea, I guess the poem is true.” ‘FForty minutes past ten ; my candle has gone out ; the lamp still bums ; the veins at my temple throb as if they would burst ; I feel vely sleepy ; I suffer horribly in the stomach ; my pulse is at 80. - Third stageL-T'urgid', flurple Taco ; eyes protruding, fixed and ataringflnvoluntary movemsnts of the limbs. A dog got in among the machinery of the City Hall town clock the other night, so that the clock refused to strike. The in- habitants knew it was night, however, by the way the dog howled. ‘ The angel of death had summoned Geor- gette before the hour appointed for their mejfing- We are told that “love is stronger than death.” “Is it irreverent to believe that its magnetic power might be permitted for a moment to draw back a. spirit from the shadowy borders of the Silent Land “.7 “ A vapor gradually fills the room ; the candle is nearly exhausted ; I begin to feel a. violent headache ; my eyes fill with tears ;I feel a general sense of discomfort ; the pulae la ggitated. _ $800311 stageâ€"Deeper redness of face, ex- prggaiog of atupoI‘, bqlging rat} axes. “I saw her this afternoon, monsieur,” a woman's voice replied, and the speaker came forward. “I lodge in the next room, and when I passed her door about two o'clock she was getting ready to go out. I was sur- prised, as she seemed so ill, but she told me she had promised to meet a. friend at Ver- sailles. However, she did not go, for when I returned she was sitting at: the table there, as if she had fallen asleep.” fl ‘7IEâ€"véa3'fié'éiéEp .Enows no waking," spgkg the doqtor: ggaveb'. 7‘ Etienne, who inzd not- yet moved or spok- en, rose slowly to his feet. “What timeâ€" was thnt T" he staked, in_ a voice not his 9wn. “Three o‘clock, monsieur, as near as I can guess." . n 1 up: a The young man’s figure swayed as if he were falling. He put his hand to his eyes. Awe and wonder too deep for words over pogered him. Whouwas it, thenâ€"what was it, he had seen at the trysting place ? Fourth stageâ€"Victim lies on the floor ; convulsive crampinga, face drawn down in- to th‘e bosom, foaming at the mouth, features distmted, labored breathing. Fifth stageâ€"Death. “Syncopeâ€"inanition ; defective action of the heartâ€"humph I" muttered the surgeon, as he raised himself after a. brief examina- tion. “When did this happen ‘3 Who saw her last ‘2" ' Ten minutes later a. doctor had been sum- moned. and the little room was full of hor- ror-gtruck andpongppssionptp fefces. But the “shy blue eyes" would never meet his again; the sweet lips were sealed for ever. For her all was ended, but for him there were the desolate years to come : the loileli- nose, the wearineas, the aching sense of loss which would never pass away. The face was waxen-white, and awfully still ; the eyes were cloned, the lips parted in a smile of unearthly serenity. “Oh, Godâ€"â€"-my darling I” The cry broke hoaraely from his White lips, as he sank on his knees at the bedside. ‘ Georgette, my love. my little dove ! Have I found you only to lose you forever 3 Speak to me â€"look at me 1” “Bring the light hers,” he said, abruptly, to M. Podevin, who carried a small hand- lamp. The latter complied, holding it so :hat the light fell fullupon the figure on the ad. A shudder ran through him from head to foot. His heart thri’led with a sudden awâ€" ful fear. “Georgette l" he cried aloud. There was no ans wer. ‘ She has fainted," he gasped ; “she hasâ€"- onlyâ€"fainted. She wilt be better present- 1y.” I He lifted the nerveless figure in his arms, and laid it on the bed; then went to the ateighpidteng (inked 10\_I_d_nyor_ gssigtanqe. 1y. She was in bed this morning, and my wife said she seemed worse.’ “She was at Versailles this afternoon, for I saw he; l"_ Etien_ne_ pqrsisted. _ M. Podevin pushedifls cap aside, and rub- bed his head with a puzzled look. “That is odd. I have not stirred from thin loge, and I can swear I never saw her pass. However, if she did go she has nertainly returned by this time, for she was never out after dusk, aad if you would like to see herâ€"” A host of tender recollections rushed upon him as he mounted the familiar stairs to Georgette’s door. It was half open, and he paused & moment on the threshold, looking His heart beat painfully as he crossed the room to her side, and laid his hand lightly on her shoulder. She (iii not stir or speak. “Georgette l” he whispered, then gently raised her head, and drawing it: back against “Georgette l” he Whispered, than géntly raised her head, and drawing it back against hia breast, burnt and kissed her. Marble was not colder than the lips which met hi: “Yet-3, I will gm upstairs at once,” Etienne interrupted, and he turned awav. The room was in shadow except near the window, where the rays of the rising moon “made a dim silver twilight,” and showed himâ€"Georgette, seated with her back tow- ards him at the little Work‘table. She still were her hat and jacket, and was leaning with her forehead on her folded hands, in an attitude of weariness or dejection. A Suicide's Diary.