Chapter 174513462

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Chapter NumberXLVI
Chapter TitleGRIEF.
Chapter Urlhttp://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article174513462
Full Date1892-06-18
Page Number5
Corrections0
Word Count4947
IllustratedN
Last Corrected0000-00-00
Newspaper TitleThe Bendigo Independent (Vic. : 1891 - 1918)
Trove TitleThe Devil's Own. An Australian Story
article text

CHAPTER XLVI.

GRIEF.

“The Idea of her life shall sweetly creep Into his study of imagination, And every lovely organ of her life Shall come apparelled in more precious habit.

Into tho eye nnd prospect, of bis soul Then whop blio lived indeed.” —SHAKEHVRAHK. Paris is full and looking at its best, for it is Into.in May, when tbo trees in the Champs Elysecs don their brightest garb, the fresh green foliage of spring. Tbo month of months in Paris. Hotels nro well flllr.dtheatres and other places of amusement are well filled, for crowds of people arc passing through Paris from the south, where they have rushed for the winter,and arc now ns eagerly rushing nway from it, to bo in time for tbo London season, which is already in full swing. At a quiet hotel near tbo Rue do la Poix tbo host boa had a busy time of it. Tho day is over now; tho table d’hote is finished, tho. lablosjhavo. boon cleared—nothing remains of tho feast. Two or throo waiters, done up with thoir Into exertions, sit with their heads against tho wall inclined fox'-a good nap, trying to light it off. A cab drives up,, startling thorn out of their somnolence, as a traveller, well guarded from'the cold by n rioh fur-lined coat and handsome railway rug, enters, “ He is a princo or a duko,” say the waiters ns tho three hurry forward to relievo him of his, luggage—poudo chose, they think dis appointedly, shouldering tho small portman teau and tho rug, which excite thoir admira tion if possible moro than tho coat. / The host or manager steps forward with an intended polito bow, but stops shorthand smiles all over his face his glad welcome, “It is monsieur," ho says, slinking hands heartily. The traveller is evidently a favorite with the host, who hurries the waiters to attend to the table, whilst ho himself hurries off to tho kitchen-to hurry ohof about a good dish or two tho host knows tho now arrival has n wcaknessfor. It is a miiot hotel, and this evening looka aniotcr than usual, tlio inhabitants having ispersed for tlm evening, leaving nothing to represent animation except n cat and a dog, which'Oro having high rolling over each other in such a fraternising manner os only French cats and. dogs ore capable of, “Monsieur would prefer,, peril ops, a biftok ou pomme fresh from tho grille, or o solo an gratin?” says tho woitor, admiring tho fur

collar and cuffs of tho boat tho traveller was wearing. Tho now-comor appears too tired to care much about tho bill of faro. “Monsieur has most cofbftinly bad a good dinner on routo-at Am ions, perhaps,” thinks tho unitor, who is wide awake now, and rather disgusted at tho traveller's want of tasto in scurrying through tho dinner without pniSw* co,mnoi,t » mcro, y asking for tho nows- Ho scans tho evening journals eagerly ho iZTng mts;™ 3 " taMTi “ thro " Bl1 W. s Jl Y f.\H ho ;vi, J >0 tboro,” ho says to him- 'i -n 19 T“. 11 6 ? ,(1 huntir »P ™tGh comSr ii 8 , bl 1 nnd bowi h3 to tho damo du raiZ l,u h ° tho B,m>ll lidi'ortujho T y v al °. n « , tUO to a a laix-n A ot *^ ,n 8 to tho private dntranct) of iP i "'Obro a few words and a t-'pid ilrddiU'e hint ft soAt in the ilia llight Is cold} crisp*, mid sharp, Its only a frosty night can bo, making tho bent of tho theatre feel niore sliding. ‘ PhewhO says, wiping his brow; but then liO thinks ho has Only just come hp from the cOuntry, has boon whisked through hun dreds of miles of fresh life-giving atmos phere. No wonder tho place feels cloao almost to suffocation. Ho takes off his hat nnl heavy fur coat nnd fcol« - Httlo relieved; then wipes his brow , ..a, and finally settles himself hack com fortably in his sent for a quiet rest after his r^r- 8 !. J n^*8u0 - Spending a few sous on Jj Entr act-o, bo roads it through more than once, then gets impatient. The church clocks hiivo struck eight, but thero is no sign of oven tho rauaio striking up. Tho musicians are lato; ho jooks at hia watch. Then there is an impatient grumbling nnd stamping in tho cheap seats of tho house. The traveller by this time has got over bis impatience, and has given himself up to a drowsy state of delicious half siesta from sheer fatigue, combined with tho heat of the theatre. Tho orchestra striking up with a crash, awakens him with a start, and ho scans his programme fts tho music continues. The overture is finished. There is still a pause; no one can understand as they anxiously watch for the rising of tho curtain. The honso is crowded; tier over tier is a living picture of good-looking mon nnd beau tiful women in exquisite toilettes. The stranger arranges his opera gloss, ono that lie has just hired, and takes n survey of tho house. Stopping at a box just' above him, ho sees Sir Hubert Armytage. There is no mistaking him As ho sits in tho front of tho box, evidently nftt intending to hide his light under a bushel. At this moment ho stands np, slowly and deliberately scans tho occu pants of the theatre. At the book of his box is a woman almost hidden by tho curtains of tho logo—a (lark, handsome woman of the gipsy typo, with largo (lashing blaok eyes and hold mien ; a face and stylo common on the boulevards, at theatres, at casinos. The stranger stares hard at her, which sho I‘csonts angrily, wondering who ho is that can stare at her so ruddy. She is evidently there under protest, for , she looks sulky to a degree; shrugs her shoulders and pouts when her Companion turns to speak to her. Sho Is well known to inns, I.or face is familiar to theatre-goers, oho is Annutto 1' erno, a half Mexican circus ndor onoG, and known to have entrapped many of the jouncsso dorco and theft Iftughcd at their ruin or suicide, or bolhj of h6r vic tims, Sho is a domon of the deepest dye, •.T 0r „ n . 3 a Sharp ns a fox: but with all her wit and fascinations silo cannot succeed in luring Sir Hubert into her toils, though sho hns tried her best to entrap him. , 0 , l ? wgustod at her failure, which disgust sho hides not. Sir Hubert knows her too well, and her class. “Two of a trado never ugrno, says tho old adage. Certainly in villainy it is only tho difference of sex' be tween tho man nnd (ho woman in that box at the theatre this evening, Tho orchestra has played its last bars, but the curtain still remains unmoved, till tho clamor becomes almost riotous. Then an aristocratic-looking—according to theatrical diction—individual, attired in (ho finest and most fashionable of French evening costume, conies before tho curtain nnd smilingly looks round tho house, particularly at the galleries. For a moment there is so much hissing, groaning, and stamping, it is impossible for tho poor follow to get a second’s bearing, so ho wisely refrains from wasting his pearls in such a din, and waits, stroking his moustache lovingly, or flourishing out a highly-scented lino cambric pocket handkerchief ho -has slowly taken out of his--coat- tail pocket, .thereby giving a preliminary lesson in patience nnd resignation. There is no rabble so indecent or badly behaved as a French collection of gamin dc Paris, but even they must tiro themselves out in time, so it is to night, the roughs are at last hissed and roared into silence by the moro decently behaved audience,ns they await tho explanation of the curled nnd moustached delegate, who comes forward to tho most becoming distance from tho footlights, hands clasped, nnd in the mast tenor of voices, states that owing to a serious accident this evening to Mademoiselle Corinne, it is im possible that she can appear. Of course ho is aware that the audience must bo almost tjricvcd to tears at this announcement, he lintsolf is “dosotoe” at thinking of their dis appointment,' but ho' has done his best for them—ho has, after immonso anxiety and hours of indefatigable search, at lust* found a substitute—ono who ho is quite sure will do her best to quite compensate for tho har rowing absence of Mademoiselle Corinne. r This is tho English sum nnd substance of the very flowery address, flowing over with superlatives. As tho modol young Frenchman glissades gracefully backwards till bo roaches the end of his tether, the curtain, which ho fools against his back hair and his heels, bo slides towards a door on his left, with a farewell bow that would have graced a ballot dancer. Tho cheers are deafening for a time before he retires. Then there are shouts for tho manager ; shoids for Corinno,” bouquets are thrown on tho stage,almost knocking the deli cately attired individual out of his graceful poie. Then-tho orchestra sliikos up some extremely lively French tune, much resem bling “Finnigan’s Wake.” The noise is deadened, tho lights are dimmed nnd tho heavy curtain is drawn up very slowly at Inst, Tho man in the fur coat hns disappeared, putting.on bis coat ns ho hurried along, he hastens round tho back part of tho theatre, where ho is tojd by a cadaverous-looking, shabby, genteel person that tbero is no ad mission—“ Monsieur has no order—it is im possible.” In vain ho states ho must see Corinne—it is absolutely necessary—or tho manager. Tho theatrical hanger-on is impertinent— “lt is quite impossible,” ho says, puffing away a bad cigar. Every ono is too busy; nnd does not monsieur know tboro is n now piece on to-night,every ono is talking about it —every ono is anxious about it—tho manager, in particular, without doubt—it is impossible for monsieur to disturb tho manager or the prompter or any one else.” Monsieur only wants Mademoiselle Corinno’s address. That docs not seem very much to ask, but, unfortunately, no ono knows il, at least ho does not.' Malle, has always been a little mysterious about hor abode, nnd ho thinks lie heard she has lately changed her residence, but ho is not sure. Tho accident? Oh, a little flro of some kind, not much. Mademoiselle was foolish enough to entoh her dress on fire. Tho candle or tho fire or tho gas, perhaps, gas is sometimes very dangerous when people wore careless and ignorant. Was monsieur a relative? a friend? Monsieur needn’t alarm himself thus —Arcs wore common accidents—were common at theatres—there was Mademoiselle Julie, only lust week, at tho Odeon. Ah ! monsieur was in n burry and over-anxious. X will do what I can if monsieur will wait” And the shabby-genteel man whisked him self o.T, banged a door, leaving tho traveller to himself in tho long passage in scmi-dnrk nois, with a draught that would have given many a man rheumatism or toothache for life. • The messenger returns, after some minutes, carrying a ‘ very dirty-looking, much bo crumpled old envelope, on which is written tho address so desired by the traveller, wlio after rewarding hia benefactor, hurries through tho passage nnd is out in tho street before the applause duo on the rising of tho curtain has subsided. j. “Kao D’oro SL lionoro,” bo shouts, jump ing into tho first fracrc. “As fast as you .can,” Along tho Rue Rivoli, crowded with night going votaries of pleasure or otherwise, to the Champ Elysoo, whore is a quiet street of well.built, unpretentious houses-or hotels,'as the inhabitants designate them. A crowd is before one of 'the houses (a square looking residence with gates enclosing a small court gntoyml. Such n orowd as ono often sees lingering about the front of a house whore some unusual event has occurred —a wedding, a funeral, ft murder or a ball. Tho crowd is looking up at tho windows where Ihoro scorns nothing really to satisfy their curiosity, for the persiennes are all closed, leaving only a faint glimmering of light visible. “ What is all this?* says the stranger, as ho jumps out of tho cab nnd accosts a hazard locking couple,smelling strongly of nbaonillie. 1

* Mhis 1 ihttro nas been an aooulonl up hero— ft lady burnt to death—a terrible accident indeed, actually burnt to death before any ono could save her—poor thing. Wt 11. well, this is ft cruel world !” The traveller bites bis lip unlil the blood comes, as bo pushes his way amongst the people, regardless of politeness, regard'oss of anything save ge tirg to tho gitcs and past them. Inside the gales is a small ooncior gorio, not much larger than n batting box, whore Is a little old woman, as wizened and shrivelled as an attenuated frog. She packed away in n corner to make room for a sergeant do villo, n groat Jmrly burly follow With black moustache, rod checks oild fdt shoulders, who takes up all the available spice to himself oonsdrjudiilially, "It is impossible,"squeaks the little woman in a thrill treble. No ono can outer, u’sco pus, monsieur." “Miiis coriaincment porsonno," says the iiuily burly, rolling bis black eyes in sur prise at such a very presumptuous demand. “•liens!" squeaks the little frog, “tions! you see all these flowers', ayo, and plenty more have theso groat gentlemen and ladies brought, but none of them wore admitted, no not one—not oven Count Ben Belle ville, mademoiselle’s great friend, and who greater than ho. “No, no, it is impossible." You will regrot it, I am her brother, her only relative. I shall complain to tho pre fect,’’says tho stranger in a haughty tone, taking out of his pocket a gold piece, which ho twirls round and round with his Unger, angrily. There Is a whispering between frog and burly burly. “I would not bo left alone for much,” squeaks the woman in alarm. “ Hook at tho people there—no, you cannot leave me. What could I do, a poor weak creature?” “I don’t wan’t cither of you* t can find nly way. ” says the stranger, seeing there is a liklihool of tho oilndol’s surrender. “It is dark, I will light monsieur a little way,” says tho sergeant, amiably. " <Vu quartriomc, monsieur," squeaks the Httlo soul, half in dread, as she notices tho gold piece put down on tho small table, watching for the return of her body guard. “Au quartriemo,” she repeats, “there is a light up there if monsieur can only feel his way up to it; monsieur cannot mistake." Uc runs up at full speed, half fooling his way, till out of breath ho comes suddenly upon a door, over which a small lamp is hanging. Ho listens for a moment, laps gently, then opens tho door softly, and at a glance, takes in the whole scone, A daintily furnished half bud, half sitting-room in a distant corner of which is an alcove or recess haxvily curtained so as to almost shut out from view the bed. The curtains and cover let of whioh is in pale blue satin. Tho toilet table frutnmts are also of tho same material, draped with lace, MiWors, girandoles are everywhere, small as tho room seems. Brio a brae, modern nickimoks, and ornaments of all kinds in CvCry possible fashion, crowd the corners, brackets and tables. A strong aroma of flowers, scents, and chemicals pervades tho apnrtnicnt The whole scone is thoroughly French, except for nil air of luxury and comfort com bined,that On tho whole improves the picture. l*Vom tho dainty scores China tete-a-tete tea service in uso 16’ the cosy bright Are flickering in the essentially English grata On tho bed lies ft woman, a beautiful wdnlrtn* exquisitely fair and delicate, the clear blue vOirts in her temples showing out in delicate contrast to tho white skin She is wrapped in a loose morning robe of blue, hut so still is she that ono might ques tion whether she is not dead, or only in a deep sleep. She is not asleep, but feebly with closed eyas she is trying to join in prayer. With her back to the door, kneeling beside the bed, her head bowed down in prayer, is ft Bister of Mercy, whoso simple attire, devo tional attitude and whole bearing forms n strong contrast to the worldly appnrtmonta and styjo of the whole scone, Tlioy have nob noticed tho entrance of the stranger, who stands inside tho door, silently waiting for* tho Sister to rise from her knees, then ho crosses the room quietly, and stoops over tho suffering woman, kissing her fondlv. “Gustavo! Gustavo 1 at last,” she says sweetly in a half whisper, as she raises her self to put her arms ronnd his neck, but with a moan of pain she falls back, her face con tracted with much suffering. “ Pon Cherie !” he says, Kissing her again, ns he lovingly strokes back tho soft golden hair from tho hot brow. Groat drops of perspiration trickle down the white face, felling of tbo agony oho suffers. A look of anxiety and alarm comes over the swcot placid face of tho Sister of Mercy, who instantly prepares a sedative, giving a spoonful to her patient, who after a while sinks quietly into sloop. Tho watchers move away from tho bod slowly to a distant part of the. room, where they hold converse in whis pered tones. “ Yes, mademoiselle had met with a horrible accident. It was about live o’clock, sho had }ust come from tho theatre very tired,' for there was a now piece being rehearsed, and mademoiselle, having ono of the chief parts, was naturally anxious about it She had changed her heavy fur cloak for a light wrapper, and was sitting reading over her part when she smelt fire-her dress had caught ami hoford Jeanette, who had gone with a message, or any ono could come to her the flames had spread. Sho was burnt, terribly burnt lior face, neck and arms only escaping. Ah! it was terrible, and made moiselle would Jiavo boon a cinder had it not been for Monsieur Laval 10, who happened (it was a pure accident), for ho seldom returned at that hour, to bo going upstairs to his room, when hearing screams, he hastened to poor mademoiselle's assistance. “Oh, it was horrible, horrible," said tbo kindly Sister, covering her face to hide the tears of sweet compassion sho was shedding, A voice from tho bed recalls thorn both to the sufferer, who looking anxiously around —“Gustavo," she whispers slowly,“ho is hero in Paris, I saw him last night I knew him at once, Gustavo, I know him, ho could not deceive mu, disguised oven as ho was with his yellow hair. ” “ Hush, dearest, never mind, do not speak of him, do not think of him ; ho is unworthy of a thought, he is a scoundrel, a brute." “But—but—if ho finds mo out to-night; then God have mercy, I could not bear it. You will not lot him come in—lock tho door Estelle, oh, for pity’s sake look the door, ho may ho coming up now. Oh, God spare mo such a trial.” Sho wrung her hands, flushing hotly till great heads of anxiety moistened her brow. “ Mademoiselle is in the merciful hands of the Bon Dicu. She must bo patient and quiet or this excitement will do harm," said Sister Estelle mixing- a cooling drink for tho poor.creature, whoso eyes wore still fixed nervously on the door. “1 have fastened the door—no ono can enter —besides bo could nvor find you out; if ho does ho will bo a dead man sooner than he expected—Hatch my darling chcrio, to-morrow ho will bo in the bands of tho police. Yos, I have hunted him down at lash They say it is women only who love revenge—tlioy are mistaken sweetest—l shall have my revenge for all his cruelty to you. Sleep, dearest, sloop, don’t think of him—seek repose to night, to-morrow wo will bilk oyer matters. It goes to my heart, chorie, to see you suffer thus.” Sho is watching his face with her largo blue eyes as she listens attentively. “You see, Gustavo,” she whispers, “I am so helpless—l dare not. move without agony, though lam all wool—as plump as a part ridge—but it is only" wadding—am I not Estelle? I cannot move or I would show you tho papers I want you to lake, and (ho silver pistol in the case, and other things, ho docs not know I have them. I followed him ono night, just after ho murdered the Durands, and found bis hiding place fer nil his secret things, and I took tho papers homo and hid them—hark ! what is that? I am so frightened, oh, do not leave mo, my beloved brother.” “No, no, sweet ono, calm yourself—take this, Sister Estelle has for you—it will send you to sloop, I shall watch over you, novor fear, I shall remain all night; 'AJadomoisollo may take some rest if she pleases, I shall watch.” , Tho sedative whs again administered,winch soon had tho effect of soothing tbo suiforor to sloop. Tho tiro was replenished quietly—tho sister read by n shaded lamp—still Gustavo sat by the lied until overcome with fatigue, his handsome head leant buck against the wall—until lie gradually succumbed to sleep. All was silent for tbo night—Jeanette, tbo servant, having retired lo a small apartment adjoining at an early hour so as to bo ready if wanted. It was far on into tho night when ho awoke with a start—was it a dream—or had ho hoard voices, Tho sister had hoard and hud gono to the outside door. It was tho doctor with and brother medico whoso advico ho wished. Tho’two men rtntcrod' gently—looking rather taken aback at seeing a stranger, sitting by tbe, bod, orders having been given that no one was to bo admitted, Had they looked closer they would have at once noticed tho likeness between brother and sister. “1. am her j brother,” ho -said, gelling up to leave the I room.

| The doctors bowed as ho wont out, closing tho door after him. Up to this moment ho had fell hopeful, but | now tho sight of tho hospital surgeons I shocked him inexpressibly—his nerves were | quite unstrung. Ho sat down on the stone stairs, and leaning his head against tho wall, ! wept as he had not wept for years. I A hand was placed on his shoulder, gently, —a kind motherly voice spoke. I “It is only mo, Jeanette,Monsieur must not' weop—all is for the beat—wo each Lavs oar share of troublo sooner or later—tho poor child has had more than her share, and now ( God is taking her away from a life of sorrow and suffering up to her own dear mother, who is up in heaven. God knows heal. Monsieur should not weep, ho must only pray that she may bo spared any more suffering." ; “It is so hard to boar,” ho said, still woop ing on, “so bard. So hard to have those few wo love taken from Us ; she is tho last, my' poor little siator.” “1 loved her, too," said tho woman sadly “It is worse for rno—a poor woman left alone, what shall I do now if sho goes—but I do not repine, why should 1 if slio is at rest” lie ro?o to his feet, brushing away his tears; if this poor old, faithful servant was bravo why shouldn’t'he try to bo bravo also. “ You will stay with me, Jeanette, for her sake. I have little hope for her now— l shall keep on these rooms—and all her things poor darling, they will remind me of hor always— my poor littlo sister—poor ohoric. ” lie looked out of tho small staircase win dow, down to the street, where a few people were still gathered, late as it was—folks on their way from the theatres and late amuse ments, who had 1 i ICOI3' enough come out of their way to see tho place where tho popular actress had boon burnt to death—for the Hows, like dll ill nows, had spread like wild fire, and every 0110 was talking about It that night. Ho felt selfish and heartless at having boon so premature in speaking of hor rooms, it was only that lie wished to console poor Jeanette. “ Ah, if it should bo different, if she should live, bo would novor loavo her again—never. Ho had saved ample to live comfortably—and thoro would he no fear of him troubling hor, thank goodness. ” A door opened—it was tho doctors coming out. “Is there any hope,” ho said anxiously. “We cannot tell yot, tho inflammation has not spread—it is tho heart wo fear— tho arteries were injured—perfect qniot is essen tial—a change may come towards morning. Sister Estelle had promised to lot mo know. In these cases it is impossible to decide at once, favorably or unfavorably.” They spoke in hushed voices—ho know then that there was no hope. Ho entered the sick room again, trying to look bright, ns ho sat down by tho bod. Hor oyes Wore closed, but tears were falling from the drooping lids. “There is no hope,” she said with quiver ing lips, “I know it—my poor Gustave." lie tried to cheer her, choking back his grief lest his tears should trouble hor. “I have been so wicked,’ Estelle, navor going to confession for over so long—but I couldnlL I was so afraid I dare not. Will God forgive mo, Estelle?” “God is always merciful, God is over for giving,” said tho sister, kneeling down to a largo, handsome, carved ivory and ebony crucifixion on the table. “Estelle you must keep that for my sake— it was a present from tho Pope to one of tho cardinals, who gave it to Count Loon. ” Tho sister said only a short prayer, then rose, and looking pleased nt the gift, aho aaul: “I can never forget to-night—it re quires, no gift for remembrance, Made moiselle.” “Estelle is offended—Estelle, the oro.ss is yours, and some of my books, Gustavo knows them. You have boon my guardian angel. Estelle.” “Would Mademoiselle like mo to pray with h6r before she goes to sloop,” said the sister, seeing that tho sick woman was inclined to bo wakeful and feverish. Sho did not wait for an answer, hut knelt gently down by the bed, praying soothingly until her patient was asleep. The hours of the night wore on wjth noth ing to break tho silence but tho chimes from tho different clock towers, or tho crackling sound of the lire. Sister Estelle read patiently by tho table, glad that the sufferer was sleeping peacefully —that also poor Monsieur should have dropped into a slight slumber. Ho was not asleep—ho was listening —could it have been, a dream—ho fancied ho heard - JrtS“TnoiTlsF r s voice. Ho looked down eagerly, at the face and listened. “I was dreaming, Gustavo, such a lovely dream, she said. “We wore back at tho little farm in Brittany, and I was listening to mother's voice—she was singing in the orchard amongst tho rosy apple trees, you remember them, what time is it? I am so hot and so thirsty. The sister mixed a draught which seemed grtoful to the parched mouth. Gustavo kiss mo—and give mo your hand, dear—thoro now 1 am quite happy—you will never forgot tho little chcrie, Gustave, dear.” _Ho did as sho wished, regretfully—alarmed at/i change ho fancied in her voice. Sho eased his fears by soon falling asleep, hold ing his hand lovingly, and tho day was just breaking when ho started in alarm. ’ She was singing softly in her sleep—a plaintive littlo French cradle song lie remem bered as a child his mother used to sing so touchingly, “Angels watch over thee.” lint as ho listened the sweet voice jjrcw fainter and fainter till tho sounds died away in silence. Then ho know that henceforth ho had no littlo sister in this world, (TO DR CO.VINOF.D)

? A Kansas city policeman's filar slopped a bullet that otherwise would nlmofit certainly have entered bis heart* The town of Snratow, in tho south-east of Russia, has lost a river—tho Volga. Tho water.of tho river has for some time past boon deserting the right firm of tho stream, upon which Saratow is built, and (lowing ex clusively in tbo loft nnn, which is about a mile and a quarter distant from tho'town, Tbo former bed of tbo stream is now quite dry, and is used as a road to convoy pas sengers and goods to tho town. Z A strange sign appeared in a piece of musio published a fow days ago by a Berlin music seller. In a certain page of one of Drcslor's publications, entitled “ Lelzo Lied," a pause iis marked—a. special pause—which Ims nothing to do~with the ordinary signs used in music. Tho song was one of Moltko’s favorite songs. It wan while listening to its per formance that ho was seized with apoplexy. Tho pause indicates the precise moment when the old flold marshal fell hack to die,