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Show THE SPECTRE IN THE WARDROBE H By Henri Lavedan. H (Translated and Adapted from the 'French by II. C it.) ALL night long Marescot had tossed and turned, unable to close his eyes. The image H of his betrothed would not leave him; her name, Hj Virginia, haunted him, like a strain of music that B keeps running through the head. He was thinking, H his head 'buried in the pillow: "It is tomorrow. H Tomorrow, tho church, the ceremony, the wed- H ding breakfast." And he wished that he might H awaken older 'by twenty-four hours, married, all H the ceremonies over, alone with his little wife. H Ah! how happy they would be! At first, at H least. And why not always? He had known of H happy marriages. His own had been such a one. H And he arranged plans for the future, while H awaiting the dawn. When it appeared, rose-col- H ored, through the chinks in tho blinds, he sprang H out of bed and opened wide his window to the H morning of this spring day that was to be famous B in his existence. H "Wednesday, May 12th." Only three words, H yet how much was contained in them! How they H brightened his spirits and warmed his heart! H "Wednesday, May 12th." That day belonged H to him, seemed to shine, smile, perfume the air H expressly for him a surprise that nature had H reserved for his marriage. He drew a long breath H of tho velvety air that come up over the garden m and rested his elbow on the railing of the bal- H cony. m Faint sounds disturbed the silence and quiet M of the morning f he chirp of wakening birds, the H palpitations of invisible wings, rustling of leaves, H blades of grass stired, one could not tell how, the H tear of a rose that dropped a petal. To the left, H beyond a molderlng wall covered with clustering B lilacs, stretched a park. M M'arescot left the window and turned his at- K tention toward dressing himself. His watch indi- M cated the hour of six. He was to meet the bride H at eleven. He had time enough and to spare. j After having bathed and dressed, he began a tour H of the rooms, inspecting each one with the sat- H isfaction of a man of taste who finds nothing H to alter. H Everything was ready for her reception. In HI the drawing room white and gold the vases H were filled to overflowing with fragrant flowers, H the silken curtains, half-drawn, tempered the H light, the piano waited her white hands. What Bj cosy breakfasts, what long tete-a-tete dinners, Q they would enjoy in the oak-paneled dining room! H With what care he would wait on her. Every H time he went out, in winter, he would bring homo H delicacies for her, the first of the season, and he H pictured to himself his return home in the even- H ing, a little late, laden with little pink-stringed 9 parcels that would rouse her curiosity and cause H her to spring up joyously, clapping her hands, H and crying, "Oh, what is it? What is it?" B The bedchamber! It was all in bright blue, H like her eyes, with flowers on the mantel, flowers H on the table, flowers before the window, flowers in tho corners, flowers everywhere, even on tho 'bed. He throw a long look around the room, and then softly withdrew. From door to door he went, from the library to the billiard room, form the billiard room to a little conservatory, from the conservatory to the guest chamber. And, concluding con-cluding his inspection, he entered a large room used as a storeroom, where were piled up pellmell old pieces of furniture, old iron rubbish of all sorts, a globe, trunks, watering pots, old oval-framed oval-framed portraits, a magic lantern. He was leaving the room when suddenly, his eyes falling on an old wardrobe, he trembled. It was of black walnut, very large, very high, having hav-ing the key in tho lock. It occupied a corner of the room, near the window. And, in an instant, recollections of his first wife filled his heart, suffocating him, forcing him to lean against the wall to save himself from falling. He had, Indeed, In-deed, been a widower for fourteen years. A ro mance which had ended like a tragedy. Kather-ine Kather-ine ,. . . it all seeu -3d so long ago! He, orphaned, or-phaned, deeply enamored, had wedded her when he left college. She had died six years after. He had suffered much. Then the days, the years, had passed, and he no longer thought of the dead. Thus he had reached his fortieth year, without , v, ever having noticed its approach, and had de- "y elded to make an end. And here, after fourteen years, during which time he had lived immersed in business, traveling often, moving at least four or five times, he once more found himself incredible in-credible chance! tho very morning of his wedding wed-ding day, before tho wardrobe in which were kept the garments and trinkets with which he would not part, all that remainad to him of his first wife. What should he do? Look at them? Never! And then, was this the moment to sad-, den himself foy awakening memories of all that mournful past which had slumbered so long? |