LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume XXI, Issue 1736, 12 September 1879, Page 3

LITERATURE.

A SKETCH IN A NARROW STREET. (Concluded.) And it was a sentence Hans had not intended to complete. Not yet. By and by, when there was a little more money in his pocket, and a home worthy of offering to a wife, then it would bo time enough to finish that sentence. But on this as on other occasion", it was a case of "man proposes," at least so far as Hans was concerned, forthe long, joyful day over, and tired holiday seekers, beginning to consider the quickest way home, he found himself under a aoft starry sky walking townward by the side of Rose Cordier. 'lt would be pTeasanter to walk,' he_ had said, standing by the crowded omnibus, filled with drowsy, crying children and wearied mothers. * Are yon tired. Mademoiselle,' after a second's pause—'would you rather drive V 'No, I will come with you,' she had replied, 'it will save the sons. * So they had started homeward together. And ere very long Hans found himself reverting to those unfinished words of the morning. Love-making] seemed so natural, under these circumstances, that it was difficult to think of waking up on the morrow to a hard day's work, and the knowledge that where it is bo difficult to help one, what would be done if there was yet another. ' It is selfish of me to ask you, Rose, when I have nothing to offer, but I am young and strong, and willing to work—and £ love you Rose.' Hans stood still as he spoke, and his voice trembled as he clasped the girl's small hands in his. Rose was moved, too. The tears stood in her bright eyes, her cheeks looked pale in the starlight. ' Yes.Jdear Hans,' she said timidly, in that sweet foreign tongue he had learned to love, ' but, you see— " ' Yes, I see. We could not live upon nothing. No, alas, no ! Bat, Rose' the color flushing up into his face again as he said hesitatingly, 'we might be engaged ? Could yon—oh, I know it is asking a great deal, but could not wait for me f *

' Ah, Hans, you must not think me unkind, but—it would be so long, and—." There was no mistaking the girl's tones, oven if the words were a little vague. ' And there is Andre Leroux ?'

'He is. from my country,' cried the girl, quickly blushing a bright rosy red. _' It is natural, among strangers, I should like to Bee and talk to a countryman of my own.' * Yes, dear Bose, I am not blaming you. Do not think that. As you say, among strangers, it is pleasant to meet one who speaks your language. It must be often lonely to you.' Yes, Hans,' Rose replied, brushing the tears! outl of her eyes. 'lf It were not for you, I should find the little street bnt dull and sad sinoe the poor mother has died. And, ah,' as they entered the said street, ' here we are at home! How qu'ckly we have come! Good night, Hans.' She stretched out her hand as she spoke, and again Hans took it in his, and looked down at the pretty face. 'lt is such a pity,' she said softly, ' that you have no money.' ' Such a pity,' he echoed sadly, loosing her hand as he spoke. ' Are you not angry with me V she went on.

' Angry ? no, certainly not. Why I see of course, you were right. It "was silly of me to ask you to wait; you might be an old woman before I had enough for us to marry on 1' ' Yes, dear Hans, it would never do. I knew you would agree with me when yon thought it over. But you will still remain my friend t' ' Always your friend, Rose. It does not matter, you know, how poor a friend is.' Thus they parted ; Bose to weep a few tears, and then to fall asleep and dream of Andre Leroux ; Hans to ponder over whether there was nothing to be done, nothing he could do, to better his position, It was so diffionlt, more difficult in the prosaic light of day even, then when dreaming over it pipe in mouth, in the soft Summer evenings. Carving the letters of a dead friend's name—more often painting them on common black wood, for the customers who sought out the little atelier of Hane Gottlieb were

not often well-to-do—is not a swift road to a fortune.

And although he was not proud, and after Rose's remark! abont tbe time wasted over the wreath of roses which might perhapt have been turned to better account, ho had done what f little odd jobs he could after working hours, still even then the little heap of savings did not seem to increase much. And oftener and oftener now, Hans noted a certain M. Andre Leroax come up the narrow street of an evening, to walk up and down in the twilight with his opposite neighbor.

E<ch time the sight of the spruce Fiench flower-maker—for Andre's trade was the same as Hose's—sent a throb of pain to the great honest heart of Hans Gottlieb. Bnt he did not repine, did not blame Bo3e. It was one of the many misfortunes of not being rich, that was all. But not a cause of complaining, only a bnrden, like so many 1 1 ers that fall to the lot of the poor man—a part of his day's work.

It wis not so often now that Rose Cordier ran across in the gloiming to ask how his work progressed, and the neighbors ceased to gossip and nod their heads when they saw them speak to one another. 'lt was changed, all that they had thought likely to come to pass—the wind was in another quarter now —they could see, ah yes, it was not difficult to see what was coming.' Only the children did not forsaVe Hans, but were irnt as eager tot-lkto him and run after him as in the days when there wai no spruce Frenchmen to share with him the honor of the narrow street. Then came a morning when Hans, as he worked, saw a couple issue from tbe opposite house, followed by as many neighbors as could spare an hour's holiday ; Bo>e, with a late Gloire de Dijon in her belt, a bright color en her cheeks, and her dark eyes shining with pride and happiness, and her hand on Andre's arm. 'Good morning, Hans,' she cried in her sweet voice, as she passed his open door. * I am going to be married this morning, bat we shall not take the wedding holiday till Sunday. If you can come, do.' And then passed on before there was a chance of Eaying more than 'A happy future.' That evening, as Hans worked at the rose-wreath—it was nearly completed now—he chanced to look across to the window where he had so often seen the bent head and trim figure. But tonight the lamp was lit, for it sjon grew dark now, too soon for work to be relinquished with the twilight, and on the blind was the reflection of two heads, of four busy hands. Hans did not look a»ain ; he drew down his own blind then, and with a went baok to the carving of his delicate roseleaves. But after that evening he gave up his little room, packed his few goods and made up his mind to go away—to go to Rome, that haven of ambitious minds. Now that the little savings were not all to be hoarded against the day when they might ■ be wanted for another, it was no use guarding them auy mnm. Better, so Hans decided, use them] in going away to -where daily breadjnight, perhaps, be easier come : by than in this narrow German town; where perhaps, even the carving he was so fond of might gain him congenial work, and allow him to pat on one side this other work that occupied him now. Besides, if the worst came to the worst, and he did drift into utter poverty, it did not so much matter now. And with that 'now,' Hans buried the past and started forth on his travels. First, however, he went acroas the street, and for the first time entered Rose's domain, Mme. Leroux, as he had called her. ' I have come to wish you good-bye, Madame,' he said. ' And see, I have brought you jas a parting present the little wreath. It is finished now.' He laid it down as he spoke among the colored roses on the table, between Monsieur and Madame as they sat at work. ' Oh, that is good of yon, very good,' cried Rose, the ever-ready tears coming into her eyes. ' And so you are going away ? Ah, my husband,' turning toward spruce, neat-figured M. Leroux, 'thou must also wish Monsieur Hans "Godspeed," for in the old days before I was married, he was always a kind friend to me, And see, also, what a beautiful present he has brought us!' At his wife's words M. Andre stood up. 'Monsieur is amiable, most amiable ! Any friend of Madame is dear to the heart of Andre Leroux! Let me wish you 'Bon voyage' fand much prosperity.' Then there was a brief farewell from Hans, a few tears from Rose, another bow from M. Andre, and Gottlieb had departed, and the husband and wife were left alone. 'lt is graceful, very graceful,' said the Frenchman, lifting the parting gift of Hans. ' One would scarcely have thought his great hands could have fashioned such a thing. When it grows dark, dear wife, if you fetch a nail and a piece of eord, I will myself attack it to the wall I" 'lt is pretty,' said his wife. 'I always thought bo ; but now, Andre, that I see it among all these red roses, I am sure that what I said of it at the first is quite true —it wants color 1' ' You have it exactly, my wife," replied M. Leroux, with fond appreciation of Rose's cleverness. ' That is just what it needs—but, then, we cannot have everything.' And Mr Andre's gaze returned with muoh satisfaction to the crimson roses before him. It would have surprised this 'couple, perhaps, if they could have seeu on into coming years, if they could have listed to the words of a world-renowed oollector of the beauties of art. 'He only did two of them'—he was addressing some three or four eager listeners in a London ball-room —' the one that he did for Levison, and which first made him famous. You never saw it ? Why, it is a marvel! The curl of the leaves, the very dew on the fresh petals, it is wonderful. I would have given him anything he asked, for one like it. But, poor fellow, as you know, he only lived long enough to know he was famous. ' However, when I was last in Fredrichburg, his native town, and striving to find out all I could about him—if he had done anything before he went to Rome —there in that wretched narrow street, as I was telling you before, I found thia fae-simile of his greatest work—a present to a sweetheart, I suppose. They had told me she knew him, that he used to live opposite to her, so I called to see if I could glean anything about him, and there, hanging up on the wall, I saw that very wreath that had been haunting me for months!' ' How did you persuado her to part with it! ' ' Ah, Lady Grace, that was not very difficult—honest English gold. Her eyes glistened at the sight of it! Very pretty eyes they were, too ! She cried when I took it down, cried when I told Hans wai dead. But her husband comforted her. ■ See, my wife,' he said, ' I will make for thee a wreath of roses of jußt the same Bize'—did I Bay they were artificial-flower makers? —'and we will hang It up in its place, so that you will not miss the other. And as to Jhim, poor fellow, life is difficult, and perhaps he ia well ont of it 1' * So Madame dried her tears.'

« Ah, that will be lovely,' I heard her say, as I carried my treasure away; ' and I like the colored ones best. And the money, you see, my friend, is far better : it will feed and clothe the children, whereas the wreath—we could only look at it 1' ' You are interested in it now, are yon not Lady Grace ? You will come and have tea in my rooms to-morrow afternoon, and see the wreath of roses ? Poor fellow, what a sed pity it was that he died so young V