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Show fillORT STORY OF THE DAY1, 1i nifiwwijfc wiiyy)iiwiwc'ff wwimi "Lord, rny God, endue them with strength: cast thy mercy upon them." . And Marguerite began to speak. Ths . words Issued from her throat with sharp pauaes, as though very feeble. "Pardon, pardon, big Later I Oh. forgive! for-give! If thou knowest how I have had fear of this moment ail toy life Suzanne stammered through her tears: - "Forrive thee what, little oneT Thou hsst given all to me, sacrificed everything. every-thing. Thou art an angel-r,f But MarguTtte Interrupted .htr: "Hush, hush! Let me b peak do not stop me. It Is dreadful let me tell all to the very end, without flinching. Listen. Lis-ten. Thou rememberest thou remem-berest remem-berest thou rememberestHenrt-'' Suzanne trembled and looked at her slater. The younger continued: J "Thou must hear all to understand. X was ia years old, only li yeara old thou rememberest well. Is It not so? and I was spoiled: I did everything that I liked. Thou rememberest. surely, how they spoiled me? Lis ten I The first time that he came he had varnished boots. He got down from his horse at the great steps and he begged pardon tor his costume, but he came to bring some news to papa. Thou rememberest is It not so? Don't speak: listen. "When I saw him I was completely carried car-ried away, I found him so very beautiful, beauti-ful, and I remained standing in a corner cor-ner of the salon all the time that he was . talking. Children are strange end terrible. ter-rible. -0h, yes I have dreamed of all that. "He came gack again several times . I looked at him with all my eyes, with all my soul I wss old for my age and very much more knowing than any one ' thought. He came back often I thought only of him. I said, very low: " 'Henri Henri de Lampierre!" 'Then they said that he was going to marry thee. It was a sorrow. Oh, big sister, a sorrow sorrow. I cried for three nights without sleeping. He came every day. Ia the afternoon, after his lunch. Thou rememberest, la It not so? Say nothing listen. Thou rnsdest him ' cakes which he liked with meal, with butter and milk. Oh, I know well how. I could make them yet. If It were needed. He ate them at one mouthful, and then he drank a glasa of wine, and then he said, 'It Is delicious.' Thou rememberest how he would say that? "I was Jealous, Jealous. The moment of thy marriage approached. There ' were only two weeks more. I becamf crazy. I said to myself: 'He shall niV ' marry Suzanne; ne. I will not have It! ' It Is I whom he will marry when I am . grown up. I shall never find any one whom I love so much.' But one night, ten days before the contract, thou took est a walk with him in front of the chateau by moonlight end there under un-der the fir, under the great fir he kissed , thee kissed holding thee in . bis two arms so long. Thou rememberest. is It not so? It was probably the first time yes thou wast so pale when thou earnest back to the salon. "I had seen you two: I was there, in the shrubbery. I was angry! If I could, I should have killed you both. "I said to myself: 'He shall not marry Suzanne, never! He shall marry no one. I should be too unhappy And all of a sudden I began to hate dreadfully. dread-fully. "Then, dost thou know what I did? Listen! I had seen the gardener making little balls to kill strange dogs. He-" pounded up a bottle with a stone, and put the powdered glass In a little beU . of meat "I took a little medicine bottle that mamma had: I broke It small with a hammer, and I had the glass In my pocket. It was a shining powder the next day, as soon as you had hiade the little cakes I split them with a kntfe- . and put In the glass he ate three of them I, too, ate one I threw the other six Into the pond. The two swans died three days after. Dost thou remember? Oh, say nothing listen, listen. I I alone did not die but I have always been 111. Listen he died thou know-eat know-eat well listen listen that, that la nothing. It Is afterwards, later always the worst listen. "My life, all my life what torture! I said to myself: I will never leave my sister. And at the hour of death I will tell her all there!' And ever since I have always thought of that moment when I should tell thee all. Now it la come. It Is terrible. Oh, big sister! "I have always thought, morning and evening, by night and by day:- 'Some time I must tell her that.' I waited-, what agony! It is done. Say nothlni. Now I am afraid I am afraid. If I sin Marguerite de Therelles was dying Although but E." she seemed; like) 75'a least. She panted, -paler than the sheets, shaken by dreadful shlyerltigs, her face convulsed, her eye haggard, as Jf sh had seen some horrible thing. .... Her eldest sister,. Suzanne, six years older, sobbed on her knees beside the bed. A little table drawn close to -the couch of the dying wcuan, , covered with a napkin, bore two lighted candles, the priest being momentarily expected to give extreme unction and the communion, com-munion, which should be the last. - The apartment bad that sinister aspect, that air of hopeless farewells, which belongs to the chambers of the dying. Medicine bottles stood about on the furniture, linen lay In the corners, Sushed aside by the foot or broom. The 1 Bordered chairs themselves, seemed affrighted, as If they had run. la all the senses of the word. Death, the formidable, formid-able, was there, hidden, waiting. The story of the two sisters wss very touching.- It was quoted far and wide; It had made many eyes weep. Suzanne, the elder, had once been madly In love with a young man, who had also been In love with her. They were engaged, and were only waiting the day fixed for the contract, when Henri de Lamplerre suddenly died. The despair of the young girl was dreadful, and she vowed that she would never tnarryr She kept her word. She put on widow's weeds, whlph she never took off. i Then her sister her little sister Marguerite, Mar-guerite, who was only 13 years old-came old-came one morning to throw herself Into the arms of the elder, and said: "Big sister, I do not want thee to be unhappy. un-happy. I do not want thee to cry all thy life. I will never leave thee, never, never! I I, too, shall never marry. I shall stay with thee always, always, always!" al-ways!" Suzanne, touched by the devotion of the child, kissed her, but she did not believe. be-lieve. Yet the little one also kept her word, and, despite the entreaties of her parents, pa-rents, despite the supplications of the elder, she never married. She was pretty, very pretty. She refused many a young man who seemed to love her truly; and she never left her sister. They lived together all the days of their life, without ever being separated a single time. They went side by side, inseparably united. But Marguerite seemed always sad, oppressed, more melancholy than the elder, as though, perhaps, her sublime sacrifice had broken bro-ken her spirit. She aged more quickly, bad white hair from the age of SO, and. often suffering, 'seemed afflicted by some secret, gnawing trouble. Now she was to be the first to die. Since yesterday she was no longer able to speak. She had only said, at the first glimmer of day dawn: "Go and fetch M. Je Cure. The moment mo-ment has come." And she had remained since then upon up-on her back, shaken with spasms, her lips agitated, as though dreadful words were mounting from her heart without power of Issue; her eyes were mad with fear, terrible to see. Her slater, torn by sorrow, wept wildly, her forehead resting on the edge of the bed, and kept repeating: "Margot. my poor Margot, my little one!" . She had always called her "little one," Just as the younger had always called her "big sister.'; Steps were heaad on the stairs. The door opened. A choir boy appeared, followed by an old priest in a surplice. As soon as she perceived him the dying woman, with tone shudder, sat up, opened her lips) stammered two or three words, and began to scratch the sheet withler nails, as If she had wished to make a hole. The Abbe Simon approached, took her hand, kissed her brow and with a soft voice said: "God pardon thee, my child; have courage. The moment Is now come. Speak." Then Marguerite, shivering from head to foot, shaking her whole couch with nervous movements, stammered: "Sit down, big sister listen." The priest bent down toward Suzanne, who had flung herself upon the bed's foot. He raised her, placed her in an armchair, and taking a hand of each of the sisters In his own. pronounced: going to see him again, soon, when it, am dead! See him again think of It! The first before thou! I shall not dare. I must I am going to die I want yejsj to forgive me. "J want It I cannot go oft to meet him without that. Oh. tell her to for- , give me. Monsieur le Cure, tell her I implore you to do It. I cannot die without with-out that." Suzanne had hidden her face In her hands and did not move. She was thinking of him whom she might have loved so long! What a good life they should have lived together! She saw him once again in that varnished bygone time, in that old past which was put out forever! The beloved dead how they tear your heart! Oh. that kiss, his only kiss! She had hidden It In- her soul and. after it, nothing nothing more her whole life ' of a sudden tbe priest stood straight and with strong, vibrant voice,- ' he cried: 9 "Mademoiselle Suzanne, your sister Is dying!" Then Suzanne, opening her hands, showed her face soalied with tears, and. throwing herself upon her sister, she kissed her with all her might, stammering: stammer-ing: - . "I forgive thee. I forgive thee, little' one." . |