About Atlanta semi-weekly journal. (Atlanta, Ga.) 1898-1920 | View Entire Issue (Aug. 13, 1912)
8 Cynth i a-of-the-M inute Copyright 1911 By Louis Joseph Vance VII. I CINDERELLA. "Beast!” That crisp epithet, barbed with whole-hearted rare and contempt, fell ■harp upon the closinr of the door be hind gaunt, unpleasing. sullen Sidonie. Tittering it. Madame Savaran sank; heavily back into her chair, replacing her cane in ita corner. She sat in silence for a long minute, her eyea •eintillant. • Then her mood veered. The ten plump and active fingers of her two hands drummed the devil's tattoo on the polished top of the little table be-1 fore her. He- handsome old face cloud ed. "Whatever shall I do?” she solilo quised in despair. "I can neve replace' her. never!” To that instant Cynthia, untroubled by the envenomed glance the discharged Ina id had given her tn parting, had been faintly amused. She was so no longer. She detected In the old lady's exclamations a very real and poignant distress Sympathy stirrer in the girl s generous bosom. "Ton mrtn't think that,” she said soothingly. “I'm sure there must be plenty of maids —” There's only one Sidonie!” declared madame with vigor. That animal. ' she cried. Think of it! For ten—no. for more years than I can say without •topping to reckon, she r.as been my servant. One doesn't uproot from one's heart the association of that time and not feel it! She was a paragon of maids; she understood me thoroughly; J never had to tell he * word of her duties. It is true she would steal my trinkets and pawn them for money to get drunk on. she would lie to me and carry tales to turn me against my com panions—she had got rid of at least bne rival every year by such means; but then I could say anything to her. She was the >nly maid I ever had who could endure my temper. [ have a filthy temper.” eaid Madame Savaran complacently. “And you don't think you could take her back?” "What? That snake” That ingrate! Never!” the old lady swore cheerfully. “Anything but treachery 1 could stand; but let that once show its head, and it is over—all—everything is finished!” < She waved her hands excitedly, folded them, and breathed, or rather sighed -plaintively, a three-ply. copper-riveted malediction on the head of the de parting maid Shocked. Cynthia involuntarily sat bolt upright, eyeing madame in. wide dismay. The movement did not pass unremarked. "I do swear wonderfully,” observed madame- "Sometimes I surprise even myself. But it is a great comfort. You mustn't mind; you'll get used to it in time.' “ "I!” Cynthia exclaimed, amazed. “You—certainly—my dear. Why, do you Imagine, did - 1 call you back if I in tended to let you leave me?” j “But—" "You needn't think I hold it against you that you were sent me by that red headed blackguard. Rhode. It only goes to prove that good may come of evil. You see. my dear. I believe you, and I don't believe that if you were to attach yourself to me you'd sell me. like that . . . that." repeated madame slow ly; then she got her faculties well in hand, and with the careful deliberation of the true artist, thoughtfully, fully, an freely delivered herself of a charac ter sketch of Sidonie. forgetting, exten uating and omitting nothing, working up through well chosen epithet and similie neatly applied to a soul-stirring, hair-raising, blistering, blasting perora tion that borrowed its bolts from the skies and sifted the abyss for Its meta phor a Whesn she had finished. Sidonie's ante-mortem obituary had been written by a master hand. Stunned, breathless, hardly able to credit her hearing. Cyn thia remained spellbound, unable to as sociate such fearful powers of expres sion and the comely old lady with the stately manner moderated by a glow of creative enthusiasm and obvious self ap proval. from whose lips the tirade is sued. Then the heavens cleared. Madame | Savaran folded her hands, compressed | her mouth primly, and smiled, radiating , good nature. "I feel better now,” shu remarked, i “Well fefget it and say no more about it.” It was Cynthia’s thought that she | had .left nothing unsaid. "It's a great comfort to be old enough to have a | safety-valve like that, really: ever aso much better than what fools -all a good | cry. Besides, women don’t cry much, except in novels, unless there's a man concerned. Now we will talk about . yourself. How old are you?” Recovering. Cynthia told her. "Al d your middle name—how «o j ou spell it?" • Cynthia detailed the orthography of •Vrcilla • “Don't you wonder why I ask?” . f “Perhaps you thought the name un usual." Cynthia ventured. "Rather,” Madame Savaran affirmed wtlh a strong, humorous drawl. "But I had another reason. But no matter; I'll explain later. Now tell me more of your self." In the course of the next ten minutes she proved herself an exceedingly able .practitioner of the art of cross-examina tion. Cynthia was not permitted time to think how entirely she was surrendering her personal history and character into the bands of this pragmatical person, so swiftly did question follow upon the heels of answer. Things she bad never dreamed to tell another ran off her tongue ere she thought to impeach ma dame's right to know. Beneath the fire of Interrogation lay warmth of sympa thy, a personal and friendly interest, anaesthetic to maiden reticence. Before this reserve melted like ground mists be fore tbi •>'« of morning; Cynthia inno cently revealed herself, with neither > picion nor misgiving. Afterwards, wondering at this. she I was never able to account for it. save I under the excuse of white magic; Ma dame Savaran seemed undoubtedly a witch of sorts, to have been able to Insinuate herself beneath a stranger's guard Cynthia told everything, indeed; what Crittenden had missed in her more con strained self-accounting of the evening previous; the story of her mother’s ar rant infatuation with the notion of mar rying her child to money, through pur suit of which her small competence had | ebbed as she moved wearily on from con tinental spa to capital, capita! to seaside watering place and thence to gambling center, dragging with her the poor, over dressed. shrinking, sullenly mutinous girl and thrusting her beneath the notice of the fashionable crew they followed; and the story of the senile devotion of a certain Englishman, to whom she had t TOBACCO HArfi l HTim 1 offer M genuine, runalwi rensedy for totmceo « snuff habit. la « bouts. it is mild, pleasant, seeogtheatag. inmiaa that pe-uliar nervousness sod craving for eignretlca, elgara, pip*, chewing tobaeeo *» last One Baa in 10 sou use tobacco wr-toat apparent tn lory, la the other »la poisonous and ser toasty Injurvn the health la several ways, causiag tach dimmers as nerroae dyspepsia. deepleaaaeaa, gas, betekicg gnawing, er ocher sneomSw.au.e s-nsatfou in etomaeb. ennst'natlon, headache. I weak eyes, loos of vigor, rad spots on akin, throat Irritation, nathma, bronchitis, STOr I heart failure. lung trouble, catarrh, melancholy, nenrastbeuia. Impoteacy. lota of mem Dill Ml HQ an and wtU power, taper* psjwued; bl-od. raeemetiem. lembege. sciatica neetritls. heartburn, torpid liver, " * LT joss of appetite, bed trerb. foal breath. er.-.errattoe. IsMl’ude. lack of ambition, weakening and foiling out YOUR of hair ant aaay other dioorle.-'. »• la anaafe and torturing to attempt to oera eoaraelf of tobaeoo ar snuff habit lire be Sadd»u stopping dsa tdo It- The correct n>eAod Is to eliminate the nicotine poison from the system. »RA aET Mreegrbea ibe weak.-xt. Irritated membranes ant neryes and sennlaely oeereome the eraeing. Ten can quit to aEUnCI baoeo and enjoy eouraelf a thousand times better while fcettas alvars in robust health. My FBEB book tells all shoot the wondernsl a days Method. InMpee«t»e, reliable. Also Peeret Method for eonqnerinc habit In rFC 11 saotber without hla knowledge. Fen partitnfars ineladlng my beak on Tobacco and Aauff Habit walled la plala wrapoer fr-e. Den t Sela r Keep this: show <• e, her,. This adr. mar not anpear aeatn. Mention If you smoke «a«. Adeem EDWARD J. WOODS, 834 Sixth Ay., 3i5T , Ney* York, FLY. i reluctantly engaged her hand before her mother's death, only to beg and plead and pray and finally to fly for freedom, when death came to ease her of | the necssity for self-sacrifice upon the al tar of daughterly love. Guilelessly she disclosed everything; and absorbed, the old woman listened, drinking in the least, last detail with her gossip-loving ears, and when the inquisition was temporarily suspended, proving herself no less candid in the matter of unveiling her personality. , “And now, my dear,” she said, sleek wijh satisfaction at her success in pumping the'girl. "I'll tell you what your middle name interested me. The only woman I ever knew who wore it with the same spelling was Miss Urcilla Wayne, of the Waynes of Washington Square.” "My mother!” cried Cynthia. "You knew her?” "Os course I knew h< r.” returned Madame with some asperity. "Why not? Not intimately, you understand, but still in a somewhat personal way I desiggned the gown she was married in—to say nothing of the rest of her trousseau—l, Adele Blessington. . I remember her |»erfectly; you are very like her. only I should say, a mite pret tier. And you should know that Ur cilla Wayne was considered the most beautiful bride of her year. So you see. ...” "You, Madame ~ Savaran —you were Madame Blessington? Really?" "Mademoiselle Blessington I was in those days, my dear. That, you see. was before 1 made a fool of myself, marry ing that villain Savaran. Yes,” reaf firmed the old lady, placidly self-con ceited. "1 was tht same Adelaide Bles sington. Adelaide was my given name, you know, my dear; but I changed -t. It always sounded to me like something spoiled—and nobody ever spoiled me, not even that brute Savaran. when we first married.” She choked and lifted her voice. "Sidonie!” “But —” began Cynthia. “To be sure,” said Madajne. with a flush. “Bless your heart, my dear, you made me forget my troubles. No mat ter.” She assumed a look of obstinate cheerfulness, expectation a-glitter in her eyes. A door opened noiselessly and the maid showed herself on the threshold. “Madame calledT’ she inquired in a voice of velvet fawning. “Go to the devil you!” said Madame, briskly. “Why are you still there? Your time is up!” “But. Madame —” “If the porter delays another instant, go wait in the hall. Get out of my apartment. You understand me? Go!" Dumb with rag% Sidonie shut aerself out of the room. Madame Savaran chuckled like a mis chievous child. “Loathsome insect, she commented, and then dropped tne subject for good and all. "Cynthia, my dear, will you fetch me a ciga<ctre— that box on the console there. If I am to talk to myself—and 1 know I shall— I must smoke; although as a rule I smoke but once between breakfast and lunch. But this is an exceptional day.” Cynthia obligingly brought the cigar ettes and matches, her European up bringing having made her so thoroughly accustomed to the practice of smoking on the part of women of station and re finement that she thought nothing of It m this instance. I “Yes.” resumed madame, puffing con tentedly, “it was I who founded the great Blessington dressmaking establish ment and made it what It is, easily the foremost house <m Fifth avenue. 1 m out of it how—and they feel the loss of me. I can tell you; but that's another matter. Savaran was responsible for that, the beast. He was my head cutter, in the beginning. I married him-*let me see—yes, the year your mother married Dr. Grayce. Immediately he stopped working; he seemed to think the hus band of the head of the house ought to do nothing. And then he took to drink. I stood it for a while. Then I discharged I him.” She smiled sweetly in reminiscent en : joyment. "You discharged your husband, mad ! ame?" Madame nodded emphatically. “As suredly. Do you think I would stand his ■ nonsense? Not I. I refused to have him ■ hanging round the establishment. He j lowered its tone. It did the business no : good to have a half-drunken creature I acting as my right hand—and letting not the left hand know what the right was lup to. The animal used actually to flirt I with my assistants the moment I turned Imy back. And then they would com -1 plain to me and threaten to go. Be sides, he disturbed my temperament. How is one to dream creations with a pig of the gutter like that at one's elbow? Certainly I discharged him. “He would not believe me at first; but soon I Convinced him. Even then I had my famous tempe-; the thing was known. So one day he went. And that. It was I who could not believe it true— that blessed relief!-until I discovered the thief had absconded with ten thou sand dollars of my money. It was cheap at the price, I told myself; of course, after that he would never return- And he didn't; I am always right. I never saw him again until a month or so ago, when he was dying. Then he sent for me. and at first I wouldn’t hear of going. But finally I went; I went to find out what he had done with my money.” Madame paused, puffed her cigarette viciously until the smoke grew too hot for comfort, and put it aside. “My dear,” she pursued, "fancy my feelings! That blackleg. Rhode, came with the longest face imaginable to tell me Savaran was dying and had asked for me. 1 flew to him. repentant, pre pared to forgive him —to forgive him even the ten thousand dollars. Besides. I had made my mind up that he had long since squandered it tn reckless profligacy. I figured to myself the the poor man dying In want and j misery, the deserted and wronged wife i hastening to his Eide to comfort his last 1 moments, angelically pitiful and com passionate. . . . And I found him on the point of expiring, it’s true, but surrounded by every imaginable comfort and luxury! Never was woman so disil | lusioned. Do you believe he had sent for me to beg my forgiveness? Not he; ■ not Savaran. He merely wanted to do Rhode an ill-turn. They were associat ed in a business venture none too sav- j ory, and had quarreled, so he summoned me to make me a present of his inter | eat in it, that I might be a thorn in Rhode's side. "What a deathbed! I thought it was I who would die of amusement, as soon as I got over being indignant. I bear George Rhode no love myself; he is my son-in-law. He's a bad one, a cut off the same piece as Savaran —only a rarer cut, you might say. He married my only daughter against my will, and THE ATLANTA SEMI-WEEKLY JOURNAL, ATLANTA, GA., TUESDAY, AUGUST 13, 1912. By Louis Joseph Vance Author of “7 he Brass Bowl, “No Man’s Land, ’ Etc. got what he deserved. She was more Savaran’s daughter than mine, anyway, and she left George Rhode after mak ing him properly miserable for a year, more or less.” The old lady paused to rejoice with I unnatural glee over the discomfiture of ■ the Red Man; and Cynthia, fascinated, interjected an excusable query. “Is she living, madame —your daugh ter?” “Os course. We never die, we Bless ingtons. But she’s no good. I have nothing to do with her, beyond giving her money when she’s broke. But no matter; 1 never talk of her. To get back to my husband: we had it hot and heavy, right and left, Savaran, Rhode, and myself. Rhode wished to prevent his talking: he’s slow, that one; he'd never guessed what Savaran was up to when he asked for me in his pa thetic whisper. And in the end I had to put the hulking red brute out of the | room; and he let me do it. Just fancy ■ that! He was afraid of me, the great ’ coward. “Then Savaran told me something about his affairs. It seems he had not wasted the stolen money; and that was like him; he never by any chance did what one would expect. He actually tiad the face to Insist it was rny temper that made him drink, and that once free of it he straightened out, went on the water-wagon and into the restaur ant business in Boston, and positively made money. My <IO,OOO grew to $-0,00 tn as many years. Meanwhile he had got acquainted with Geo'rge Rhode, through my daughter. somehow —I'd never suspected she ever saw her fa ther —and when Rhode proposed his scheme to make cent per cent, by a questionable means to say the least, questionable) Savaran sold out his bus iness. retired on a quarter of his cap ital and put the rest of it into Rholes venture. On the eve of its inception he reil ill; the matter had to be postponed, against Rhode’s wishes. Delays exasp erated that devil. So they oeean to tight—and I inherited a 115,000 interest in their plant.” The semi-occasional and always ab rupt descents into current slang wli'cn were apt to punctuate the voluble on ward flow of Jiadame’s vivacious nar rative. as cascades a mountain torrent, were always mystifying to Cynthia. She had not the slightest notion of what a •plant" might be any more than she un derstood the term “water-wagon’’ save by a process of connotation in Itsel? vague and unsatisfactory. But she wa< too interested to interrupt, even ha.« the manner of Madame been such as to make interruption seem advisable, which It was not. So. after finishing her cigarette and extinguishing Its glowing tip upon the ash-tray. Madame Savaran took up her tale. "The dickens of it was, the money was tied up; I couldn’t get it out with out losing most of it. And by every right It was mine, though yoked to a scamp for a rogue’s march. Savaran was a fiend for cunning; he got even with both of us by that move. And then he turned his back to us and died chuckling. It was as good as any play. “So here am I, on the verge of step ping off Into the qpKnown with un arm crooked through a rascal’s—for 1 wouldn’t trust George Rhode out of my sight with a dollar of my money. And here are you sent me by him to be my comfort and delight—he’ll bite his cigar In two when he finds out how things stand with you and me. Not that I’m not fond of you for your own sweet self already, my dear; but it doesn't lessen my Joy In you to know all this will make George Rhode run round in circles. . . . And here are the two of us sitting and Jabbering like a couple of old women at a meet ing of the Dorcas circle, when we ought to be up and hustling, getting our things packed. We must be on board by 9 tonight, you know, though the steamer doesn’t sail till morning.' “But —Madame Savaran —” Cynthia protested in bewilderment. That lady had got out of her chair with every apparent intention of being an exceedingly busy woman in the im mediate future and of expecting Cyn thia to stand by her without further parley. But she wasn't disposed to be unreasonable —as she comprehended the meaning of that term. “Yes, my dear?” said she, pausing. “Os course I don't want to hurry you, but we really have a great deal to get through with, and it’s all the fault of that double-faced Sidonie. for most of the packing’s finished, and it's only the odds and ends we must attend to, but, of course —” Here she shopped short and laughed outright at Cynthia's dazed expression. “Am I talking your head off, my dear, and never permitting you to get a word tn edgewise? There, I’ll try to be sensible. What is it you wish to say?” “The steamer,” Cynthia pleaded in a breath—“you say we must be on board tonight—what steamer? And where is she going?” "Her name is Cydohia, and as for her destination you know as much as I, my dear—or very nearly. Rhode won’t say, beyond that she’s clearing for Rio de Janeiro; and that may be t'ue. But when you’ve known George Rhode as long as t hare you’ll take everything he says with several grains of salt. He says Rio and sticks to it; I nay I don’t know.” “Is that the only reason you have for believing his intention to be dis honest?" asked the girl. “I need no other; I know the man. He declares the Cydonia is bound on a per fectly legitimate business venture, carry ing a valuable cargo to its market; I say the man's as crooked as the off hind leg of a mongrel hound-pup, and therefore wouldn’t turn his hand to anything on the level. Besides, he had Savaran with him to start with; and Savaran was a scoundrel if ever there was one. And even he intimated the speculation was oft color, though he was despicable enough to stop at that and refer me to Rhode for further particulars. And then Rhode has fought tooth and nail against tny coming; and that's more proof. If he is going to turn an honest trick, why should he object to my company? Thank goodness, I'm too old to have the wool drawn over my eyes by a clumsy rip Hke George!” The old lady wound up with a wide, combative flourish of her cane; but she had been studying her companion’s face while she rattled on. and now was in stant to encourage the girl, recognizing that her mind was troubled. “That isn’t all you wanted to know, my dear?” “No, Madame Savaran.” Cynthia hes itated. coloring adorably. “It’s very kind of you to want me, and I—l'd like to come—tut—” “And come you shall. Make up your mind to that. I'm not taking no for an answer from you, child.” “But I can't.” Cynthia blurted in des peration. "I'm not prepared. I—l haven’t any clothes for an ocean trip.” "Indeed!” commented madame, unper turbed. “And do you think that shall stop you or prevent me from having you. when I’ve set my heart on it?” She de liberated briefly, keen old eyes searching the young and txautiful ones that met them so openly and honestly. “But not against your will,” she said suddenly. 'JL EWikJpey*..Jiut DQUunltEs. jou really. want to come ■with me. Tell me truth iully, Cynthia, if you had the proper outfit, would you be willing to come?” “Oh, yes—” , "Then it's settled. While I’m looking round and mal Ing up my mind where to begin, please go to the telephone, call up Ninety-eleven Gramercy Blessinton’s —ask for Mr. Simonson, and I’ll talk to hiir." As one who dreams, Cynthia complied. And as in a dream she moved and had her being throughout the remainder of that extraordinary day—though with gratitude be it chronicled she attempt ed nothing so bromidic as to pinch her self for reassurance as to her wakeful ness. She was quite a normal human woman, was Cynthia, but in this as in some other minor matters she was not altogether as other girls one reads about. It would, however, have been re markable if she had neen able to review this day without considering it a day apart. She awakened to its light a pauper orphan; she went to sleep with the sensation of a princess in a fairy tale; but, unlike most such princesses, quite forgetful of the prince; indeed rather inclined to ascribe her transformation less to his adroit and courageous intervention than to the magic weavings of the benignant witch. Through the glamour, of that day of days men and women and things ap peared. postured for a little time, and went their waya like puppets moving to the manipulation or a master: or again like gnomes and elves and gob lins, supernaturally potent, but none the less docile to the will of the omnip otent fairy godmother bent on creating a new world for. her new-found Cinder ella. Mr. Simonson, of Blessington's, for one. by some magic incantation ,of madame's was materialized from a paradoxically nasal and disembodied voice at the end of a telephone wire into a small, neat, suave Semitic jinnee, charged like a storage battery with juice of deference—obsequious to the least significant utterance of the enchantress. With him appeared a train of imps bringing boxes, a’ small ware house of boxej; which, being opened, discovered a woman's world of ravish- Hundreds TJ' TJ T? T? of Dollars A IV H/ A-7 To Agents of The Semi-Weekly Journal in Our Great Profit-Sharing Contest. The Offer Is Open to All. You Take No Chances ■ ■' ■ '■ - ” - ' ■'■' ■ - - ' = - ’-y- j— - The harder you work the more money you will make and the more the prize winners will receive. Our offer is as- follows: For every yearly subscription that you secure to The Semi- . 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Address All Communications or Orders to CONTEST EDITOR Semi-Weekly Journal ATLANTA, GA. ing things—gowns, suits, wraps, skirts, ana blouses, hats, veils, stockings, un derwear in deliciot s profusion, appoint ments of many kinds. . , . ’’Every thing!” as madame had stipulated im perially over the telephone, adding measurements partially supplied by Cynthia, partially perceptible to- her educated eye. Simonson had taken her word at its literal value. With his and madame's counsel Cynthia found herself trying on and selecting what seemed a little of all things requisite and (madame’s amend ment, curious but expressive) “then some.” Following Simonson's prompt ex orcisrp at the instant his services seem ed no longer essential, other Jinn of an inferior order, in checked jumpers, bear ing on their shoulders empty trunks dedicated with her initials to the ward robe of the princess. This reminded Cynthia of her own trunk and small belongings; and after a brisk discussion with Madame the Enchantress she gave way, much against her will, and permitted one of the Monolith housekeepers, specially de tailed for the service at the command of the old lady, to go to her humble lodging, pay her bill and pack and bring away everything she owned. There followed hours of furious pack ing, spaced by Intervals devoted to the spiritual excoriation of Sidonie for hav ing forgotten all things forgettable and having neglected all things else. And then, arrayed in her fresh finery, she had a ride in a taxi with madame, with pauses here and there to pick up a dozen ipdispensables —among these the amethyst ring of Monsieur le Due de GUise; after w’hich they returned to the hotel in frantic hast,e, madame hap pening to remember having left the jew el case in a precariously exposed posi tion. But they found it safe, its con tents intact. A little later they had an early din ner of many delectable courses—"the last mouthfuls of decent food we’ll have in weeks, my dear!”—served In state in the most magnificent dining room of the most magnificent Monolith. There were breathless final rites in the stormswept apartment. Most indelible of all memories was provided by the long and weary ride alone in the motor cab —Madame Sava ran following in another, because two were required to convey their luggage —with one of the hotel detectives on the front seat as a guard over Cynthia and the jewel case; the same in its own individual handbag having been intrust ed to her care—most unfairly, Cynthia considered. The feeing of unreality was most ineluctible then, with the well-kerned lights of Manhattan slipping steadily past, to be replaced by those of the bridge, of the long, slow climb and the swift downward dip to Brooklyn, where interminable processions of strange lights strode mysteriously through strangely quiet streets, all appparently escaping from the echoing iron-roofed shed by the waterside with its old chioroscuro of high swung spluttering electric. arc lamps and grim, tenebrous shadows amidst great piles of bags and bales of crated things—and, most tena cious of all memories, 'its atmosphere impregnated with a sickly sw’eetish. fruity odor, lightened by Infrequent whirts of salty wind from the tidal river. A myriad of singular impressions cul minated with the Rubicon-crossing of a gangplank that spanned a black abysmal depth with a forbidding glint or sluggish water at its bottom, to a stuffy-smelling and poorly-lighted saloon, where Rhode greeted them, dawning upon Cynthia’s consciousness like some sullen midnight sun, blazingly ungracious. The sight of him jogged her perceptions out of their glutted stupor for a little; but she was too utterly weary to remain awake for long. Even a sharp passage-at-arms between Madame Savaran and her son-in law had no more effect than to rouse dtill wonderment that they had energy enough to quarrel. She experienced a sensation of moving down a narrow, dark tunnel (termed by Rhode an alleyway), of coming to a stop in a small cabin bright with electric light and white-painted woodwork, of understanding that this was her own pri vate stateroom .and that it’adjoined that to be occupied by madame, of bolting the I door behind Rhode and unlocking and i gage. i Then dull, sweet, narcotic darkness. VIII. THE CHANGELING CYNTHIA. | "My dear .. . Cynthia opened drowsy eyes incredu | ously. I My dear, it's after 8 o’clock, and you've slept!— Do you know you almost fell asleep standing up!—so tired, poor child you hardly opened your eyes when I made you undress and get into your unpacking divers pieces of hand-lug ! berth.” j Madame Savaran’s voice; and Madam* Savaran’s the face bending aoove Cyn- Ithla. So it all was true! After ail some dreams do come true. . . With a quaint. perverse shake of her . head and a sleepy smile, “I don’t believe 1a word of this, you know,” said Cyn thia. Madame had at her command a smile j very winning and sweet. If a trace Imp ! ish; with such she answered Cynthia’s J from her place on the folding seat by | the head of the berth. She was wearing a very fetching thing of frills and fur belows, all of a soft pink tone, which went by the designation of dressing gown; and her morning .cap was set jauntily atop that surprising edifice of hair which Cynthia half already begun to suspect. But if it were a wig, it was certainly a most becoming one; and Cynthia could have sworn, had there been need, that there was nothing arti ficial about the coloring of madame's cheeks and lips any more than there was about the brightness of her eyes or the humanity of her heart. (Continued in Next Issue.) LITTLE PROGRESS MADE ON BERNSTEIN JURY (Special Dispatch to The Journal.) CHICAGO. Aug. 10.—Progress in picking a jury to try Mrs. Florence Bernstein, who is accused of murdering her husband, George Bernstein, was slow today. One of the veniremen de clared that he had been approached in the court room by a stranger, who de clared that Mrs. Bernstein was guilty and should be punished. The court halt ed further examination of veniremen.
