DURING AN ENTR'ACT.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXI, Issue 17, 25 August 1893, Page 21

DURING AN ENTR'ACT.

(Blowitz, in the Philadelphia Press ) IT was in 1870 ; the war had just been declared. Marshal MacMahon had received orders to paralyse by a bold stroke tbe combined action of Northern and Southern Germany. In Paris— as in all France— the fever of anxiety shook everybody . People strove to escape from tbe anguish of waiting by the excess of pleasure and discounted in advance — or, at least, feigned to — the first victory by giving the reign to folly. The open-air restaarants mingled their tomultous clatter of arms with the trumpet flourishes of the Champs Elysees ; the lights of the cafeschantants illuminated enlaced couples, who glided towards tbe gloom ; brilliant t Dilets bloomed in the groves of the public gardens. Like every place where the intoxication of forget fulness was sold, the theatres were crowded to overflowing, and among them was one of the prin. cipal boulevard theatres in which the public, thronging from parquet to dome, seemed one evening particularly impatient. The audience had assembled there to witness the debut of Mile. Jane de Bolney — that was the norn de theatre of tbe debutante — and for some months past those who knew her — and the journals repeated tbe judgment — had been proclaiming in advance that a tar of the first maguitude was about to rise in the French dramatic sk/. She was known to be handsome ; she was said to be entirely devoted to her art, marvelously gifted and of a natnral brilliancy, which illuminated everything as soon as she appeared. She had, for her debut, chosen "La Dame aux Oamelias," then | s ill in the radiance of its first success, and it was known that the author of the play bad said that the role of Marguerite seamed to have baen written for her, and for her alone. Tbe result, indeed, had justified from the first act the most enthusiastic predictions, The mere presence of Jane da Bolney had, in fact, sufficed to win every heart, to delight every eye. When the spectators had seen that exquisite creature advance, with her tall and willowy figure : when they bad perceived that pale, fine face, with lips at onca haughty and caressing, with limpid blue eyes, with pure and vigorous forehead and white complexion ; when, by a graceful movement of tbat profile of supreme elegance, they bad seen revealed a supple and proud neck and a pink little ear which shone like a pearly shell against a golden flood of hair floating down over the back of the neck, a murmur of admiration had arisen from the dense crowd, and, by its prolonged buzz, had interrupted for a long minute the dialogue of the actors. From that moment the ovation had increased, and tbe second act had ended in an explosion of triumph which no past success had equal ltd.

Amoßg those whom luis victor; had most deeply affected was Lonis Belconrt, one of the pensionnaires of the theatre, thanks to whom Jane, whom he had loved from her early youth, had succeeded in making her debut; in fact, leagued wish the rmjjriiy of young journalists, Louis Belcourt bad been able to force the manager to give her a chance, notwithstanding his exclusive passion for pupil? of the Conservatoire, through which Jane had refused to pass. Tnis young man's passion had excited the sympathy of all who knew him ; he loved Jane with a boundless devotion and loved her without hope, for he watt acquainted with the tnaa for whom she had reserved her life. Only recently had this infinite love filled the actress' heart. At the finish of the last Longchamps races, at which Napoleon 111. was present, she had paused in front of the Imperial tribune to look at the ladies who garnished (he front rows. Suddenly from bihind the fauteuil of one of the Empress' dameß of honour she had ■een emerge the face of a man bronzed by the Southern snn. As if moved by % Buperior power, the man had drawn up his martial figure. He slightly bid beneath his citizen's dress his military bearing. Quitting his pace, he suddenly left the tribunr, came through the crowd thronging around it, and, apparently nnconßcious of his movement?, presented himself before Jane de Bolney. There mly he seemed to have recovered his senses. He bowed, confused and humiliated, to the young woman, and Btammeringly attempted an excuse. Bat, as troubled as be, seized upon by that instinct of supreme pity which penetrates the hearts cf women simultaneously with the birth of love in them, the young actress paled at ihe sight of him and murmured :— "My name is Jane de Bolney ; I ehall soon make my debut in La Dame aux Camelias I '" " And I, madame," answered be, bowing again, "am Roger de Morfenille, captain of Spain?, and, for the moment, orderly to the Emperor." It w»e a case of unspoken love. Neither the one nor the other strove to struggle against an imperious domination. From that moment it had seemed to them that they were born for each other. Without uttering a syllable everything was understood. But the war was at the horizon, and it was tacitly agreed upon that their life in union should not commence until after the fight. Boger was sure of beieg one of the first to depart. Jane would wait for him. Ttey lived in that cont>tant intimacy from which the assured morrow does not banish respect, not knowing in what way their existence would be arranged, but saving to themselves that they would be each other's to the end of the road which lay before them. When Roger came to make his adieux to Jane, with ut a word having been spoken to prepare for that exchange, eacb, at the moment when they rose to separate, handed the other a ring, and this supreme betrothal was subs 1 ituted for the bitter kisses of a last farewell. After the second net of " La Dame aux Carnelias," when the curtain had been raised and lowered for the sixth time upon the acclamations which had greeted Jine, in the flush of that unparalleled triumph, the echo of which she hoped would reach Roger, the youg woman, with that melancholy oppression which too great fortune gives, was slowly mounting the stairway leading to her dressing-room. However, Boger knew that she was making her debut that evening, and she was certain tbat, even amid the smoke of the battlefield, he could not have forgotten her. But, without daring to admit it to herself, she had, during the whele day, been the prey of a sort of indescribable presentiment. She had watched at the door and listened to the footsteps ascending the stairway. She said to herself that the day could not pass without bringing her a souvenir, some Bign of the beloved one, who was not ignorant that she also was going to face the chances of signal lights which decide, here, the life of individuals, and there the life of nations ; she said this to herself and yet she was uneasy, anxious and oppressed, A flash of joy, love and pride shot from her eyes when on opening the door of her dressing-room, she saw upon the white lace of her toilet table the blue paper of a telegraphic dispatch. She rapidly closed the door that she might not be troub'td while reading the words which had come from the dear absent one, and, without even perceiving that Louis Belcourt had sikntly fullowed her, opened the telegram. Suddenly, amid the deep silence of the corridor, through the d >ot Jane had just entered, Louis Belcourt heard a frightful Bupeihutnan cry, at once wild and tender, the mortal accent of wticn nude a quiver run through his veins. He forced the door and sprang into ibe little chamber. He arrived ]ust in time to catch Jane m his arms ; she was beating: the air with her armc, tbere was a rattle iv her throat , she was livid with grief and yet held in one of her clenched bands the dispatch she hud run through. As he was asking himself in his teiror what he should do, Jane's pallor vanished, a flood of blood colouring her visage ; her eyes, n;w

wide open, fixed themnelvep, as if by an irresistible impulse, upon the fatal dispatch . She suddenly banded it to Louis Belcourt, who read the follow* ing words : "We have been crushed at Wcerth. They have transported me to a neighbouring chateau. Amputation probable. Fray for me. This dispatch will be carried to an open station. I love you. " ROGEB." The young actor stood aa if thun tar-struck. Then, making an effort, he looked a' Jme. He s*w her, erect and resolute, putting a hat over her theatrical head-dress, throwing a cloak over her magniflcent costume. " Where are you going 1 " demanded he. " I am going,' answered she, in a firm voice, " lam going to rejoin Roger I " "But, in Heaven'd name, think that the enrtain will soon be raise J and your entrance oo the stage is expected 1 This it frightful t You will destroy yourself— ruin your fortune, your life I Remain an til to-morrow 1 " " Listen," replied Jane. "Itis a quarter to ten ; there is a train at 11 o'clock, I know, since a friend of Ro/er, to whom I hare entrusted a letter, starts at tb&t hour from the Gard de l'Bst. If you prevent me from taking tbat train—yon Bee that poignard— l swear to you on my soul that I will kill myself 1" Louia Belcourt recoiled in terror. Jane quitted the dressing- oom and went down the stairway. The young actor followed her mechanically, overwhelmed, and walking with the automatic step of a somnambulist. She opened the artists' exit door, which led to the street at the back of the theatre, hailed a carriage, and vanished in the night. (To be concluded )