A Fool There Was

Blair that the Tidewater Southern Railroad, in which her husband had largely interested himself before his death, had declared an extra dividend that had enabled them that day to

e might not say. From before it one might gaze upon league upon league of sullen sea, stretching

mful of faggots. There was before it a number of broken and greasy dishes, filled

been red were white and drawn in pain; and there was blood upon them, where white, even teeth had bitten in the way that those who suffer have of trying to hide a greater suff

onless, awaiting an end that she had so often watched in the sullen ferocity that is of beast rather than of man. And on her lap

d held it, waiting. The woman on the bed moaned a little, a

. There stood in the opening the figure of a man. He was tall, and well-proportioned, though if anything a bit too slender-a bit too graceful; and he was, if anything, a bit too well groomed. He had light hair, and moustache. H

ngth, in the French th

s all

. The woman upon the bed

t, looked up, eyes af

ard, entering. He was still smiling. He

back to him from the sodden, smoke-stained rafters. "Strange that I should have come to-day…. A baby!" He laughed again,

she, I presume, is the mother! … And the happy

full upon his own. She said, in th

k that?

wered,

ask that

te, she thrust toward him the little

he said, in dee

held in his right hand, tapped lightly against his booted left leg. Th

d, no hair…. This is a little redder, a little more dirty, a litt

the old woman set tig

hall be hers." She nodded her head in the direction of the dying mother upon the bed. "And perhap

ling, gazed up the

ied, with a lif

he prostrate form; then again stoo

o the shrivelled

" he asked. "You ha

e did no

nt, thinking, the while lightly tapping booted leg with the tip of his crop. "I should suggest," he repeated, "calling her Rien. It is an appropriate name, Rien. It is not a bad name; in fact, i

n, "I'm afraid that my paternal duties

he dying woman

madame," he said. He lifted his hat

began; she

be her mother's," s

iled. "Her mother had beaut

w," muttered the old woman.

he s

then nodding toward the whimpe

, whimsically. "'Tis strange, that, n'es-ce pas? In that small piece of carrion which you hold

n the arm, piercing flesh and vein and sinew, sticking there.

Do not apologize; it

a little flip sent it spinning through the air

at silent. The puling thing upon her knees whimpered. The dying

ustr