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f HEAVEN AND HELL.
While forced to dwell apart from thy dear face,
Love iinfeed with Sorrow, led me by the hand,
And taught my doubting heart to understand
That which has puzzled all the human race.
Full many a sage has questioned where in space
v Those counter worlds are, where the mystic
strand
That seiwrates them I have fottn/1 each land,
And hell is vast, and heaven a narrow place.
|In the small compass of thy clasping arms.
In reach and sight of thy dear lips and eyes,
There,, there, for me, the joy of heaven lies.
Outside—Jo I chaos, terrors, wild alarms,
Und bf all the desolation tierce and fell
/ void and aching nothingness make hell.
—Ella Wheeler Wilcox in The Cosmopolitan.
V
t THE ACE OF SPADES.
nr
t It was whirl of black coats and s white •
boulders, and those of the men who did
ot dance still remained in the salon to
jdmire 1 M. d’Arcueil, t he beautiful in his waltzers quality of master
the hoyse, was doing his duty turn
r urn* with all Chose women that without
is example no one would have thought
f inviting The card room, however,
/as empty, and at the same moment that
ime. d’Arcueil, across whose charming
ead twenty live springs had come and
t me, perceived the incumberment of her
¥ (cited alon a tluMiouor y^fng officer and happiness of 30. perhaps, of waltz so
a
,7ith her.
“Upm one condition.” she responded,
that we have a game of cards first; but
warn you that 1 know only ecarte.”
The'young officer did not stir, and
jme. d’Arcueil, with that freedom of tone
iat distinguishes the Parisienne, added
ilinglv, “Who loves me follows me!”
lnmediiitely not less than twenty of
bso solemn men who believed it dero
;cd from their dignity to dance, and
v\o had been invited solely on account of
S eir wives, irooped after her to the card
Jom and placed themselves at table.
Id “Every one will thank me lor this,”
she, “and the ladies will bo able to
five without tearing their trains. Mes
urs, I give you the right to play.”
'“Lucieime,” demanded in a low tone
i young officer, “tell me quickly the
\ue meaning of this!”
“Simply that we may have a pretext
jr !,'sides, talking I should together have without died disturbance. ill the midst
% ?those dancers. But play, Louis, play!”
Slo obeyed and mechanically distributed
V© cards, turning op the ace of spades.
L f ^id they played, but in the handling of
fhrases, me cards, in pronouncing insignificant
\ in giving change to the playere,
|r chatting graciously with the guests
l t/ho passed beside them, Lucienne, who
I’Vas deeply in love, and was experiencing
I } p\v cruel the torture could be, was forced
(o bring the same upon her lover.
V Her husband, ex-ambassador from
S nee to Spain, had been charged with a
/ v t t mission that required a prompt de
Ctuve. ,
i Well, M. d’Arcueil had decided
V T l his wife during his absence, the pre
t ) ;e duratiou of which Andelys, he was where unable her to
-'1, should remain at
t daily were then residing. And he, Loui3
o Bremont, captain in the-th, would
! ave no right to leave Paris, since his
r egiment was on duty there.
. | reflection he distributed
Vise As Lu made this
i cards for the third time, and for the
j bird time the ace of spades was the
* /jn up
1 / “Again!” cried Louis; “clearly ..... it is sig
tuficant \ of something.” murmured Mme.
“Significant? yes," perhaps, in
r.iTArcueil, “of the manner,
' vhich we have trifled with our hearts as
! V.e now trifle with these cards!"
| “But, Lucieune, why do you go? Why
/toj Jdc) you not Paris? resist? Why Why do do you permit not refuse this
leave you command
I m, whom you do not love, to
fur life in this way? Why do you leave
v, and my love so ardent, so faithful? I
7 my love, you see, for I know well that
% *
irs and
% ‘My love, Louis, so beautiful
f > eet! I beg of you not to alter it by un
^ reproaches. I have committed sin
1 ,t you—recognize this
aough in loving suspicions.
S lace of torturing me by
hall be punished sufficiently when to
.morrow 1 find myself alone—all
him!"
i “Alone with him!” repeated M. de Bre
-
tearing- at uis heart, while the iiidiuercnts
that surrounded him took ices, played,
danced, arranged intrigues—obeyed; in
short, that odious law of antithesis that
since tho world began has encompassed in
clouds of joy, in rays of sunlight, the sad¬
dest sorrow. ^
“i-lay, Louis, play!” cried Lucieunesud¬
denly; “some one comes."
“But is it ended?” he murmured again;
“have we met, have w a loved, and do we
now part forever? For a year you have
been to me the universe—you who tell
me with so calm a tone adieu! And I—I
must respond to you, adieu! Aud after
it, Lucienne, after I have said adieu when
this night is over, is it to be nothing
more—am 1. to see you no more? Is it—
and I ask it for tho last time—is it ended?”
“Yes,” she answered, “for I must go—
I cannot do otherwise; and I beseech you
not to speak to me in that way—not to
incite me to commit imprudence! If I have
refused my love to M. d’Arcueil 1 have
still known how to respect his name! But,
see, they regard us curiously!” Aud
Lucieune d’Arcueil gave the cards a new
turn.
“Ace of spades!” announced the captain.
“Always that!” she answered aloud aud
holding it up with a smile that showed
two rows of tcetli as small and white as
those of a child. “Decidedly, I shall have
to go and consult a fortune teller. Doesn't
it alarm you,” she added, “that it is
always the ace of spades that is turned?”
“Not particularly; a mere matter of
chance. I have seen at Spa a series of
even inoro surprising occurrences than
this. Stiil, the persistency of this ace of
spades may have a meaning that we can¬
not read. At all events, I will make you
i proposition, mad, unrealizable, perhaps
without possible result, but you feel the
turning of this card portentous of some¬
thing, and they say there is a genie of
play—eh Lien! I call upon it to servo me!
If 1 turn it again, this ace of spades, you
will give mo the right to send for you, to
call you to me, no matter where, no mat¬
ter how, no matter at what hour, day or
address—and we will hud ourselves to¬
gether once more. Do you agree to it? Ah,
1 know what you would say—that my
hope is wild, insensate; that 1 must give up;
so much the worse for me! But you—you
risk nothing; it is 1 who will struggle with
the cards, and I—1 give you my word
upon it—will do nothing to trick you.
You refuse? So be it; you shall not go,
or, rather, if you do, I follow you at every
sacrifice, despite your husband, despite
yourself even”
“And you would do this? You would
compromise me thus if I decline to sub¬
ject myself to this mad proposition?”
“I swear it.”
Slio hesitated.
“Decide!” ho added; “decide quickly.
My mood is not one to be trifled with! Do
accept 1 ?”
you
4 4 I accept!” she responded, in a shaken
voice; “shuffle the cards and begin!”
Louis shuffled them feverishly, then
placed them before his vis-a-vis, fixing
apou her a look long, piercing, fiery, as if
he wsuld compel her by the force of mag
netism.
“1 wish,” said he, “I wish that the aco
of spades should be tho.turn-up! Cut,
madame!”
She cut, and Louis distributed the cards.
He turned one. It was the ace of spades!
“Victory! I have won!” he cried.
“By enchantment, then.”
“No, Lucienne, no! I love you—it is
the enchantment of love that wins!”
“But my revenge, monsieur, you will
permit me to have my revenge?”
“Revenge?”
“Certainly; I desire to play against you.
Did you think I would yield without
struggle? If 1 win the matter ends here.”
An d as it was not, after all. the
of ecarte they were playing, and which
turned card was the mily one in
they had the slightest interest. Mme
d’Arcueil quickly gathered them them her
shuffled them and gave to op
ponent. “And the turn be"
yon wish to
“The queen of hearts."
The eight of clubs showed itself upon
the top of the pack. Lucienne had lost.
“Again!” she persisted; “try it again 1 ’
For well did she realize that it was
more than the ace of spades that she had
promised to obey; that Louis, her lover,
; remiezvous to which it, this ace of spades,
j all, would must cail end her—a in parting; rendezvous upon which that, scan after
dal possibly would spy and tattle, and
chastisement attend for a reekless, erring
wife. Lucienuo shuddered.
4 * I cannot," she cried. “I dare not—1
am afraid 1 dare not abandon my des
liny to the will of a card! You arc a gal
huit man, Louis, Release me. 1 beg of
you—release mo from this thoughtless
promise."
4 4 No; impossible! and if l should you
would still suffer the sumo. I love you—
you know it, and I believe that you love
me. V o, it is impossible!
« « Then begin anew—make tho test over
again!” I
“Willingly—something tells mo shall
win. What card will you take now?”
4 4 The one that came up before—the
eight of clubs
4 4 Eh bit'll! Shuffle and give them to me
yourself.”
Once more she did as ho told her, shuf¬
fled the cants and gave them to him, and
once more, as on the other occasions, the
card that De Brouiout turned was the ace
of spades.
4 4 Ah!” she cried, rising as if something
had stung her, “1 was right—it is en¬
chantment !”
Whether she were sorry or glad Lu
cienne d’Arcueil could not at the moment
have told you. It was very late. Tho
orchestra was playing the last waltz.
Without a word Louis placed his arm
around Lucienne’s waist, aud tho two
lovers, heart to heart, the one with tho
other, found themselves in the wave of
dancers.
Soon the music ceased, the guests made
their parting compliments—the ball was
over.
The next morning M. d’Arcueil con¬
ducted Lucienne to Andelys, and the day
afterward departed on his secret mission.
Whilst diplomats occupy themselves at
a distance with the interests of France,
the soldier also has his duty as a French¬
man, and almost immediately following
the departure of the D’Arcueils from Paris
the -tli was ordered to depart for
Africa.
The news of such an order was not ro
ceived with delight, but gradually, as Louis the
hour approached for them to start,
de Bremont felt his ambition to reawaken
—the captain desired to see himself a
colonel. With scarcely time enough to
put their affairs in order, to drop a faro
well line to friends and parents, to climb
into the wagons, stop at Lyons and then
at Marseilles, tho regiment embarked
upon the transport and in due time put
their feet upon African soil.
Do Bremont, liko the majority of
French officers, had made his debut in
Algeria, and now between skirmishes
amused himself revisiting places where,
as a simple lieutenant, ho had first
pitched his tent, tho field where he had
won his “maiden spurs,” the bourgade or
straggling village where he had left a lady
love, for soldiers do not give up these
pleasing pastimes when they turn their
backs upon Paris.
Three months passed thus. By the end
of the fourth ho was well under way with
a promising love affair with a young in¬
structress of music, bom of French pa¬
rentage in Algeria, but Parisienne by in¬
stinct. One knows that Arabs are always
in a state of insurrection. Louis was
likely to remain in Africa a long while.
Nor was he astonished one morning ordered
toward the middle of-to bo
to make a sortie against the tribe of
Chachouia, then, as the military governor
had been informed by courier, making
daily ravages in the neighborhood that of Con¬ had
stantine. It was his regiment
been selected to protect the colonists and
cniell the disturbance.
He went without Q —-H those
■
jcfhi Cons i: antine comrades spoke who with Jtne 3$ enthusiasm theprovmceof of
rf
t licit wonderfully beautiful country, with
its plain of the Gazelles, its mountains of
| | Albutre which, and Bel. behind A splendid its thickets country of laurel , but
one la
| precipices roses, its intoxicating aud seductive perfumes, hedges, its danger cliffs,
lurked perpetually, danger from the wily
Chachouia, ready to train upon you with¬
out a moment’s warning the shining bar¬
rels of their moukalas. ... ~r
On tho evening in question Louis d *
Brcmont and tho COO men whom he «*% t
t P ken with him o i the expedition were
: stt at their * ft
place before i . cItLv ..
.gathered about a t ..
dred meters further awav iao t 4* l * i>
wero posted who guarded the camp, »;* r
rest of tho soldiers slept, crank c
mended their uniforms,
Do Brcmont, who was not in the L t
sleepy, not at all in tho bin \or for view
ing tho country and regret ml of l
charms of tho little music teacher. \
decidedly weary, uot to say bored, by t..o
situation.
cntly, 4 < Play cards, then!” cried Leroy rres
a little subaltern, with a turned up
nose; “what do you say, Lecaudoy, to a
game of cards?”
i % I’d play in a minute.” said I -c
tho lieutenant of t.ho troop, "u,.
win; more's the pity!”
“And you. Do Bremont?" arg
tho captain.
“Win or no win, I’m with you." ho re¬
sponded. And already tho “crusher,” r
they called the orderly who waited on tho
mess, had opened one of tho camp trunks
and was lost in its depths searching for tho
cards in the midst of the thousand aud
one objocts that soldiers know how to
cram into tho smallest space. Five min
utes later a game that left a good deal to
bo desired in tho way of comfort and ade¬
quate light was preparing to begin be
tween Louis and his friend upon tho top
of tho trunk now closed and serving us a
gaming table.
“You’d a great deal better talk.” cried
Lee&udey. complaint ugly, and stooping to
pick up a roll of something that had fallen
from tho trunk as tho “bni'per" had re
l laced tho contents; “it's devilish slow
icking my heels while you two amuse
yourselves. Zounds 1” he added, his eye
alighting upon tho package in his band
4 4 hero’s n find—it's a paper!" tv-."
“And the game—what shall it CIO
manded Do Bremont, cutting for deal
4 4 Ecarte. of course; it goes quicker."
“Are you ready?” cried Lecaudoy, un
folding the sheet; “you wouldn’t talk to
me, so—I revenge myself by reading April t I W
you. ‘Political Bulletin—Paris.
The Gazette do Franco refuses’ ”
« 4 Oh, enough, enough, Lccaudcy!” eric 3(1
Louis; “throw it in the fire. man. stop
the stuff!”
“Will you stop yonr playing, then?
Will you talk to me?”
“No, I won’t!* response—1 replied Do Bremont; h
“voila! ray turn up t
of spadesr -refuses," Lecaudey in
I 4 ix*gnn ag
4 4 Mercy I mercy! Lecaiulov! aru
Brement’s adversary; “pitch it away, that
infernal paper! Give us a rest from [ oi
tics and finance!”
“Don’t listen to him!” said t’ o captain
“Think of the game! Attention to the
turn up. ace of spades!” Paris, the
I 4 But tho news of letter
from Italy, follow the info; ni. * t :■
turn at tho news in the prov in ..
aopointments, the hunt, the balls
“Sacristil” from time to time grou: i
the little subaltern, “but it’s long, that
journal i”
Nevertheless the reading went on. and
with it the grumbling—“They had coma
to struggle with the Chachouia. and uot
with Lecaudey and Us ‘divers facts.’ "
Again it was De Breuiont’s play, and
again he turned the ace of spades. To
you, my readers, the card speaks volumes;
to him it said—nothing! Love, you see,
goes so quickly! of the court,” read Ticcaudey;
4 I Chronicle
4 4 legal affairs;” but, like love, the longest
paper has its end; the lieutenant had
come at last to fatalities, to marriages, to
deaths.
4 4 Etienne Godefrey, aged 23, Rue do
Courcelles.”
“Aline Bernier, 82, Rue Saint Ilonore.”
“Jean Lysart, et cet., et cot.,” the play¬
ers meanwhile continuing to manipulate
the card%.
Ace of spades!” called Louis for tho
third time, making the turn up.
“Lucienne d’Arcueil,” concluded Ivc
candey, “widow, 26 years. Rue Saint
Ger”
De Bremont started to Bis feet.
“What did you say, Lecaudey?" <- V? I
“Lucienne d’Arcueil, mou . % *
finishing up the list of deaths!
▼ -.JO*.*——~ .....- • .---A.*. *
.....