 A Lick-Pinney Lover by O'Henry. There were three thousand girls in the biggest store. Macy was one of them. She was eighteen and a sales-lady in the gents' gloves. Here she became versed in two varieties of human beings. The kind of gents who buy their gloves in department stores, and the kind of women who buy gloves for unfortunate gents. Besides this wide knowledge of the human species, Macy had acquired other information. She had listened to the promulgated wisdom of the two thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine other girls, and had stored it in a brain that was as secretive and wary as that of a Maltese cat. Perhaps nature, foreseeing that she would lack wise counsellors, had mingled the saving ingredient of shrewdness along with her beauty as she has endowed the silver fox of the priceless fur above the other animals with cunning, for Macy was beautiful. She was a deep-tinted blonde, with the calm poise of a lady who cooks butter-cakes in a window. She stood behind her counter in the biggest store, and as you closed your hand over the tape-line for your glove-measure you thought of Hebe, and as you looked again you wondered how she had come by Minerva's eyes. When the floor-walker was not looking, Macy chewed tooty fruity. When he was looking, she gazed up, as if at the clouds, and smiled wistfully. That is the shop-girl's smile, and I enjoin you to shun it, unless you are well fortified with calocity of the heart, caramels, and a congeniality for the capers of Cupid. This smile belonged to Macy's recreation hours and not to the store, but the floor-walker must have his own. He is the Shylock of the stores. When he comes nosing around the bridge of his nose is a toll bridge. It is Goo Goo Eyes or Git when he looks toward a pretty girl. Of course, not all floor-walkers are thus. Only a few days ago the papers printed news of one over eighty years of age. One day Irving Carter, painter, millionaire, traveler, poet, automobile-ist, happened to enter the biggest store. It is due to him to add that his visit was not voluntary. Filial duty took him by the collar and dragged him inside, while his mother flandered among the bronze and terracotta statuettes. Carter strolled across to the glove-counter in order to shoot a few minutes on the wing. The need for gloves was genuine. He had forgotten to bring a pair with him. But his action hardly calls for apology because he had never heard of glove-counter flirtations. As he neared the vicinity of his fate he hesitated, suddenly conscious of this unknown phase of Cupid's less worthy profession. Three or four cheap fellows, sonorously garbed, were leaning over the counters, wrestling with the mediatorial hand-coverings, while giggling girls played vivacious seconds to their lead upon the strident string of cockatry. Carter would have retreated, but he had gone too far. Macy confronted him behind her counter with a questioning look, in eyes as coldly, beautifully, warmly blue as the glint of summer sunshine on an iceberg drifting in southern seas. And then Irving Carter, painter, millionaire, et cetera, felt a warm flush rise to his aristocratically pale face. But not from diffidence. The blush was intellectual in origin. He knew in a moment that he stood in the ranks of the ready-made youths who wooed the giggling girls at other counters. Himself leaned against the oaken-tristing place of a cockney Cupid with a desire in his heart for the favor of a glove sales-girl. He was no more than Bill and Jack and Mickey. And then he felt a sudden tolerance for them, an annihilating, courageous contempt for the conventions upon which he had fed and an unhesitating determination to have this perfect creature for his own. When the gloves were paid for and wrapped Carter lingered for a moment. The dimples at the corners of Macy's damask mouth deepened. All gentlemen who bought gloves lingered in just that way. She curved an arm, showing like psyches through her shirt-waist sleeve, and rested an elbow upon the showcase edge. Carter had never before encountered a situation of which he had not been perfect master. But now he stood far more awkward than Bill or Jack or Mickey. He had no chance of meeting this beautiful girl socially. His mind struggled to recall the nature and habits of shop-girls as he had read or heard of them. Somehow he had received the idea that they sometimes did not insist too strictly upon the regular channels of introduction. His heart beat loudly at the thought of proposing an unconventional meeting with this lovely and virginal being. But the tumult in his heart gave him courage. After a few friendly and well-received remarks on general subjects, he laid his card by her hand on the counter. "'Will you please pardon me?' he said. "'If I seem too bold, but I earnestly hope you will allow me the pleasure of seeing you again. There is my name. I assure you that it is with the greatest respect that I ask the favor of becoming one of your fir acquaintances. May I not hope for the privilege?' Macy knew men, especially men who buy gloves. Without hesitation she looked him frankly and smilingly in the eyes and said, "'Sure. I guess you're all right. I don't usually go out with strange gentlemen, though. It ain't quite ladylike.' "'When should you want to see me again?' "'As soon as I may,' said Carter, if you would allow me to call at your home I may see laughed musically.' "'Oh, gee, no!' she said emphatically. "'If you could see our flat once, there's five of us in three rooms. I'd just like to see Ma's face if I was to bring a gentlemen friend there.' "'Anywhere then,' said the enamored Carter, that will be convenient to you.' "'Say,' suggested Macy, with a bright idea look in her peach-blow face. "'I guess Thursday night will about suit me. Suppose you come to the corner of 8th Avenue and 48th Street at 730. I live right near the corner. But I've got to be back home by eleven. Ma never lets me stay out after eleven.' Carter promised gratefully to keep the Trist and then hastened to his mother, who was looking about for him to ratify her purchase of a bronze Diana. A salesgirl with small eyes and an obtuse nose strolled near Macy with a friendly lair. "'Did you make a hit with his knobs, Maize?' she asked, familiarly. "'The gentleman asked permission to call,' answered Macy, with the grand air, as she slipped Carter's card into the bosom of her waist. "'Promission to call!' echoed small eyes, with a snigger. "'Did he say anything about dinner in the Waldorf and a spin in his auto-afterwood?' "'Oh, jeez it,' said Macy, wearily. "'You've been used to swell things, I don't think. You've had a swelled head ever since that hose-cart driver took you out to a chop-suey joint. No, he never mentioned the Waldorf. But there's a 5th Avenue address on his card, and if he buys this up you can bet your life there won't be no pigtail on the way to what you thought it. As Carter glided away from the biggest store with his mother in his electric runabout he bit his lip with adult pain at his heart. He knew that love had come to him for the first time in all the twenty-nine years of his life, and that the object of it should make so readily an appointment with him at a street corner, though it was a step toward his desires tortured him with misgivings. Carter did not know the shop-girl. He did not know that her home is often either a scarcely habitable tiny room or a domicile filled to overflowing with kith and kin. The street corner is her parlor. The park is her drawing-room. The avenue is her garden-walk. Yet, for the most part, she is as inviolate mistress of herself in them as is my lady inside her tapestry chamber. One evening at dusk, two weeks after their first meeting, Carter and Macy strolled arm in arm into a little dimly-lit park. They found a bench, tree-shadowed and secluded, and sat there. For the first time his arm stole gently around her. Her golden bronze-head slid restfully against his shoulder. Gee! sighed Macy, thankfully. Why didn't you ever think of that before? Macy, said Carter earnestly, you surely know that I love you. I ask you sincerely to marry me. You know me well enough by this time to have no doubts of me. I want you and I must have you. I care nothing for the difference in our stations. What is the difference? asked Macy curiously. Well, there isn't any, said Carter quickly, except in the minds of foolish people. It is in my power to give you a life of luxury. Social position is beyond dispute, and my means are ample. They all say that, remarked Macy. It's a kid they all give you. I suppose you really work in a delicatessen or follow the races. I ain't as green as I look. I can furnish you all the proofs you want, said Carter gently, and I want you, Macy. I loved you the first day I saw you. They all do, said Macy, with an amused laugh. To hear him talk. If I could meet a man that got stuck on me the third time he'd seen me, I think I'd get mashed on him. Please, don't say such things, pleaded Carter. Listen to me, dear. Ever since I first looked into your eyes you have been the only woman in the world for me. Oh, ain't you the kid, eh? smiled Macy. How many other girls did you ever tell that? But Carter persisted. And at length he reached the flimsy, fluttering little soul of the shop-girl that existed somewhere deep down in her lovely bosom. His words penetrated the heart whose very lightness was its safest armor. She looked up at him with eyes that saw, and a warm glow visited her cool cheeks, tremblingly, awfully. Her moth-wings closed, and she seemed about to settle upon the flower of love. Some faint glimmer of life and its possibilities on the other side of her glove-counter dawned upon her. Carter felt the change and crowded the opportunity. Marry me, Macy, he whispered softly, and we will go away from this ugly city to beautiful ones. We will forget work and business and life will be one long holiday. I know where I should take you. I have been there often. Just think of a shore, where summer is eternal, where the waves are always rippling on the lovely beach, and the people are happy and free as children. We will sail to those shores and remain there as long as you please. In one of those faraway cities there are grand and lovely palaces and towers full of beautiful pictures and statues. The streets of the city are water, and one travels about in, I know, said Macy, sitting up suddenly. Gondolas. Yes, smiled Carter. I thought so, said Macy, and then continued Carter. We will travel on and see whatever we wish in the world. After the European cities we will visit India and the ancient cities there and ride on elephants and see the wonderful temples of the Hindus and Brahmins and the Japanese gardens and the camel trains and chariot races in Persia and all the queer sights of foreign countries. Don't you think you would like it, Macy? Macy rose to her feet. I think we had better be going home, she said coolly. It's getting late. Carter humored her. He had come to know her varying, thistle down moods, and that it was useless to combat them. But he felt a certain happy triumph. He had held, for a moment, though but by a silken thread, the soul of his wild psyche and hope was stronger within him. Once she had folded her wings and her cool hand had closed about his own. At the biggest store the next day Macy's chum, Lulu, waylaid her in an angle of the counter. How are you and your swell friend making it? she asked. Oh, him, said Macy, patting her side-curls. He ain't in it any more. Say, Lou, what do you think that fellow wanted me to do? Go on the stage, guessed Lulu breathlessly. Nip. He's too cheap a guy for that. He wanted me to marry him and go down to Coney Island for a wedding tour. End of A Lickpenny Lover. Recording by Michael Robinson, Carbondale, Illinois. The Love Letters of Smith by Henry Kyler Bunner. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. This recording is by Karen Cummins. The Love Letters of Smith by Henry Kyler Bunner. When the little seamstress had climbed to her room in the story over the top story of the great brick tenement house in which she lived, she was quite tired out. If you do not understand what a story over a top story is, you must remember that there are no limits to human greed and hardly any to the height of tenement houses. When the man who owned that seven-story tenement found that he could rent another floor, he found no difficulty in persuading the guardians of our building laws to let him clap another story on the roof like a cabin on the deck of a ship. And in the southeasterly of the four apartments on this floor, the little seamstress lived, you could just see the top of her window from the street. The huge cornice that had kept the original front and that served as her window sill now quite hid all the lower part of the story on top of the top story. The little seamstress was scarcely thirty years old, but she was such an old-fashioned little body and so many of her looks and ways that I had almost spelled her seamstress after the fashion of our grandmothers. She had been a comely body, too, and would have been still if she had not been thin and pale and anxious-eyed. She was tired out tonight because she had been working hard all day for a lady who lived far up in the new wards, beyond Harlem River, and after the long journey home she had to climb seven flights of tenement house stairs. She was too tired, both in body and in mind, to cook the two little chops she had brought home. She would save them for breakfast, she thought. So she made herself a cup of tea on the miniature stove and ate a slice of dry bread with it. It was too much trouble to make toast. But after dinner she watered her flowers. She was never too tired for that and the six pots of geraniums that caught the south sun on the top of the cornice did their best to repay her. Then she sat down in her rocking chair by the window and looked out. Her airy was high above all the other buildings and she could look across some low roofs opposite and see the further end of Tompkins Square with its sparse spring-green showing faintly through the dusk. The eternal roar of the city floated up to her and vaguely troubled her. She was a country girl and although she had lived for ten years in New York she had never grown used to that ceaseless murmur. Tonight she felt the langer of the new season as well as the heaviness of physical exhaustion. She was almost too tired to go to bed. She thought of the hard day done and the hard day to be begun after the nights spent on the hard little bed. She thought of the peaceful days in the country when she taught school in the Massachusetts village where she was born. She thought of a hundred small slides that she had to bear from people better fed than bread. She thought of the sweet green fields that she rarely saw nowadays. She thought of the long journey forth and back that must begin and end her morrow's work and she wondered if her employer would think to offer to pay her fare. Then she pulled herself together. She must think of more agreeable things or she could not sleep the only agreeable things she had to think about were her flowers. She looked at the garden on top of the cornice. A peculiar gritting noise made her look down and she saw a cylindrical object that glittered in the twilight advancing in an irregular and uncertain manner toward her flower pots. Looking closer she saw that it was a pewter beer mug which somebody in the next apartment was pushing with a two-foot rule. On top of the beer mug was a piece of paper and on this paper was written in a sprawling half-formed hand. Porter, please excuse the liberty and drink it. The seamstress started up in terror and shut the window. She remembered that there was a man in the next apartment. She had seen him on the stairs on Sundays. He seemed a grave decent person but he must be drunk. She sat down on her bed all a tremble. Then she reasoned with herself. The man was drunk, that was all. He probably would not annoy her further. And if he did she only had to retreat to Mrs. Mulvaney's apartment in the rear and Mr. Mulvaney who was a highly respectable man and worked in a boiler shop would protect her. So being a poor woman who had already had occasion to excuse and refuse two or three liberties of like sort she made up her mind to go to bed with a reasonable seamstress and she did. She was rewarded for when her light was out she could see in the moonlight that the two-foot rule appeared again with one joint bent back hitched itself into the mug handle and withdrew the mug. The next day was a hard one for the little seamstress and she hardly thought of the affair of the night before until the same hour had come around again and she sat once more by her window. Then she smiled at the remembrance. Poor fellow, she said in her charitable heart. I've no doubt he's awfully ashamed of it now. Perhaps he was never tipsy before. Perhaps he didn't know there was a lone woman in here to be frightened. Just then she heard a gritting sound. She looked down. The pewter pot was in front of her and the two-foot rule was slowly retiring. On the pot was a piece of paper and on the paper was... Porter. Good for the health. It makes me. This time the little seamstress shut her window with a bang of indignation the color rose to her pale cheeks. She thought that she would go down to see the janitor at once. Then she remembered the seven flights of stairs and she resolved to see the janitor in the morning. Then she went to bed and saw the mug drawn back just as it had been drawn back the night before. The morning came but somehow the seamstress did not care to complain to the janitor. She hated to make trouble and the janitor might think and... and... well if the rich did it again she would speak to him herself and that would settle it. And so on the next night, which was a Thursday the little seamstress sat down by her window resolved to settle the matter and she had not sat there long rocking in the creaking little rocking chair that she had brought with her from her old home when the pewter pot hoeved in sight with a piece of paper on the top. This time the legend read perhaps you are afraid I will address you I am not that kind. The seamstress did not know quite whether to laugh or to cry but she felt that the time had come for speech she leaned out of her window and addressed the twilight heaven Mr. Sir, I... will you please put your head out the window so that I can speak to you? The silence of the other room was undisturbed the seamstress drew back, blushing but before she could nerve herself for another attack a piece of paper appeared on the end of the two-foot rule when I say a thing I mean it I have said I would not address you and I will not what was the little seamstress to do she stood by the window and thought hard about it should she complain to the janitor but the creature was perfectly respectful no doubt he meant to be kind he certainly was kind to waste these pots of porter on her she remembered the last time and the first that she had drunk porter it was at home when she was a young girl after she had had the diphtheria she remembered how good it was and how it had given her back her strength and without one thought of what she was doing she lifted the pot of porter and took one little reminiscent sip two little reminiscent sips and became aware of her utter fall and defeat she blushed now as she had never blushed before put the pot down, closed the window and fled to her bed like a deer to the woods and when the porter arrived the next night bearing the simple appeal don't be afraid of it, drink it all the little seamstress arose and grasped the pot firmly by the handle and poured its contents over the earth around her largest uranium she poured the contents out to the last drop and then she dropped the pot and ran back and sat on her bed and cried with her face hid in her hands now she said to herself you've done it and you're just as nasty and heart-hearted and suspicious and mean as, as pussly and she wept to think of her hardness of heart he will never give me a chance to say I'm sorry she thought and really she might have spoken kindly to the poor man and told him that she was much obliged to him but that he really mustn't ask her to drink porter with him but it's all over and done now she said to herself as she sat at her window on Saturday night and then she looked at the cornice and saw the faithful little pewter pot traveling slowly toward her she was conquered this act of Christian forbearance was too much for her kindly spirit she read the inscription on the paper porter is good for flowers but better for folks and she lifted the pot to her lips which were not half as red as her cheeks and took a good, hearty, grateful draft she sipped in thoughtful silence after this first plunge and presently she was surprised to find the bottom of the pot in full view on the table at her side a few pearl buttons were screwed up in a bit of white paper she untwisted the paper and smoothed it out and wrote in a tremulous hand she could write in a very neat hand thanks this she laid on top of the pot and in a moment the bent two-foot rule appeared and drew the male carriage home then she sat still enjoying the warm glow of the porter which seemed to have permeated her entire being with a heat that was not at all like the unpleasant and oppressive heat of the atmosphere an atmosphere heavy with the spring damp a gridding on the tin aroused her a piece of paper lay under her eyes on growing weather smith it said now it is unlikely that in the whole round and range of conversational common places there was one other gridding that could have induced the seamstress to continue the exchange of communications but this simple and homely phrase touched her country heart what did growing weather mean to the toilers in this waste of brick and mortar this stranger must be like herself a country bread soul longing for the new green and the upturned brown mold of the country fields she took up the paper and wrote under the first message fine but that seemed curt for she added for what she did not know at last in desperation she put down potatoes the piece of paper was withdrawn and came back with an addition two mice for potatoes and when the little seamstress had read this and grasped the fact that M-I-S-T represented the writer's pronunciation of moist she laughed softly to herself a man whose mind at such a time was seriously bent upon potatoes was not a man to be feared she found a half sheet of note paper and wrote I lived in a small village before I came to New York but I'm afraid I do not know much about farming are you a farmer the answer came have been most everything farmed a spell in Maine Smith as she read this the seamstress heard a church clock strike nine bless me is it so late she cried and she hurriedly penciled good night thrust the paper out and closed the window but a few minutes later passing by she saw yet another bit of paper on the cornice fluttering in the evening breeze it said only good night and after a moment's hesitation the little seamstress took it in and gave it shelter after this they were the best of friends every evening the pot appeared and while the seamstress drank from it at her window Mr. Smith drank from its twin at his and notes were exchanged as rapidly as Mr. Smith's early education permitted they told each other their histories and Mr. Smith was one of travel and variety which he seemed to consider quite a matter of course he had followed the sea, he had farmed he had been a lager and a hunter in the Maine woods now he was a foreman of an east river lumberyard and he was prospering after a year or two he would have enough laid by to go home to Bucksport and buy a share in a shipbuilding business all this dribbled out in the course of a jerky but variegated correspondence in which autobiographic details were mixed with reflections moral and philosophical a few samples will give an idea of Mr. Smith's style I was one trip to Van Demon's land to which the seamstress replied she had been very interesting but Mr. Smith disposed of this subject very briefly it weren't further he vouchsafed I've seen a Chinese cook in Hong Kong could cook flapjacks like your mother a missionary that sells rum is the meanest of God's creatures a bullfight is not what it is cracked up to be the day goes or whistened the brutes I am six, one, and three-fourths but my father was six foot four the seamstress had taught school one winter and she could not refrain from making an attempt to reform Mr. Smith's orthography one evening an answer to this communication I killed a buyer in Maine 600 pounds weight she wrote isn't it generally spelled bare she gave up the attempt when he responded a bear is a mean animal any way you spell him the spring wore on and the summer came and still the evening drink and the evening correspondence brighten the clothes of each day for the little seamstress and the draft of porter put her to sleep each night giving her a calmer rest than she had ever known during her stay in the noisy city and it began moreover to make a little meat for her and then the thought that she was going to have an hour of pleasant companionship somehow gave her courage to cook and eat her little dinner however tired she was the seamstress' cheeks began to blossom with the June roses and all this time Mr. Smith kept his vow of silence unbroken though the seamstress sometimes tempted him with little ejaculations and exclamations to which he might have responded he was silent and invisible only the smoke of his pipe and the clink of his mug as he sat it down on the cornice told her that a living material Smith was her correspondent they never met on the stairs for their hours of coming and going did not coincide once or twice they passed each other in the street but Mr. Smith looked straight ahead of him about a foot over her head the little seamstress thought he was a very fine looking man with a six feet one and three quarters and his thick brown beard most people would have called him plain once she spoke to him she was coming home one summer evening and a gang of corner loafers stopped her and demanded money to buy beer as is their custom before she had time to be frightened Mr. Smith appeared once she knew not scattered the gang like chaff and coloring two of the human hyenas kicked them with deliberate ponderous alternate kicks until they arrived in an effable agony when he let them crawl away she turned to him and thanked him warmly looking very pretty now with the color in her cheeks but Mr. Smith answered no word he stared over her head grew red in the face fidgeted nervously until his eyes fell on a rotund tootin passing by say dutchy he roared the Germans stood aghast I ain't got nothing to run with thundered Mr. Smith looking him in the eye and then the man of his word passed on his way and so the summer went on and the two correspondents chatted silently from window to window hid from sight of all the world below by the friendly cornice and they looked out over the roof and saw the green of Tompkins Square grow darker and duster as the months went on Mr. Smith was given to Sunday trips into the suburbs and he never came back without a bunch of daisies or black-eyed Susan's or later Aster's or Goldenrod for the little seamstress sometimes with a sagacity rare in his sex he brought her a whole plant with fresh loam for potting he also gave her a reel in a pottle which he wrote he had made himself and some coral and a dried flying fish that was somewhat fearful to look upon with its sword-like fins and its hollow eyes at first she could not go to sleep with that flying fish hanging on the wall but he surprised the little seamstress very much one cool September evening when he shoved this letter along the cornice respected and honored madam having long and vainly sought an opportunity to convey to you the expression of my sentiments I now avail myself of the privilege of epistolary communication to acquaint you with the fact that the emotions which you have raised in my breast are those which should point to cannubial love and affection rather than to simple friendship in short madam I have the honor to approach you with a proposal the acceptance of which will fill me with ecstatic gratitude and enable me to extend to you those protecting cares which the matrimonial bond makes at once the duty and the privilege of him who would at no distant date lead to the hymenial altar one whose charms and virtues should suffice to kindle its flames without extraneous aid I remain dear madam your humble servant and ardent adorer I Smith the little seamstress gazed at this letter a long time perhaps she was wondering in what ready letter writer of the last century Mr. Smith had found his form perhaps she was amazed at the results of his first attempt at punctuation perhaps she was thinking of something else for there were tears in her eyes and a smile on her small mouth but it must have been a long time and Mr. Smith must have grown nervous for presently another communication came along the line where the top of the cornice was worn smooth it read if not understood will you marry me the little seamstress seized a piece of paper and wrote if I say yes will you speak to me then she rose and passed it out to him leaning out of the window and their faces met we hope you've enjoyed this LibriVox recording of The Love Letters of Smith written by Henry Keiler-Bunner this has been Karen Cummins you can check out my voiceover website at KarenVoices.com my blog at KarenBlogs.com and this another podcast at KarenTalks.com this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Memory by H. P. Lovecraft in the valley of Nis the accursed waning moon shines thinly tearing a path for its light with feeble horn through the lethal foliage of the great upus tree and within the depths of the valley where the light reaches not forms not meant to be beheld rank as a herbage on each slope where evil vines and creeping plants crawl amidst stones of ruined palaces twining tightly about broken columns and strange monoliths and heaving up marble pavements laid by forgotten nans and in trees that grow gigantic and crumbling courtyards leap little apes while in and out of deep treasure vaults ride poison serpents and scaly things without a name there are the stones which sleep beneath the coverlets of dank moss and mighty where the walls from which they fell for all timed did their builders erect them and in sooth they yet served nobly from beneath them the grey toad makes his habitation at the very bottom of the valley lies the river Thann whose waters are slimy and filled with weeds from hidden springs it rises and to subterranean grottoes it flows so that the daemon of the valley knows not why its waters are red nor wither they are bound the genie that honk moon beams speak to the daemon of the valley saying I am old and forget much tell me the deeds and aspect and name of them who built these things of stone and the daemon replied I am memory and I am wise and lore of the past but I too am old beings were like the waters of the river Thann not to be understood their deeds are called not for they were but of the moment their aspect are called dimly it was like that of the little apes in the trees their name I recall clearly for it rhymed with that of the river these beings of yesterday were called man so the genie flew back to the thin horn moon the daemon looked intently at a little ape in a tree that grew in a crumbling courtyard end of memory by H. P. Lovecraft The Mirror by Cattil Mond this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by James Christopher The Mirror there was once a kingdom where mirrors were unknown they had all been broken and reduced to fragments by order of the queen and if the tiniest bit of looking glass had been found in any house she would not have hesitated to put the inmates to death with the most frightful tortures now for the secret of this extraordinary caprice the queen was dreadfully ugly and she did not wish to be exposed to the risk of meeting her own image and knowing herself to be hideous it was a consolation to know that other women at least could not see that they were pretty you may imagine that the young girls of the country were not at all satisfied what was the use of being beautiful if you could not admire yourself they might have used brooks and lakes for mirrors but the queen had foreseen that and had hidden all of them under closely joined flagstones water was drawn from well so deep that it was impossible to see the liquid surface and shallow basins must be used instead of buckets because in the latter there might be reflections such a dismal state of affairs especially for the pretty coquettes who were no more rare in this country than in others the queen had no compassion being well content that her subject should suffer as much annoyance from the lack of a mirror as she felt at the sight of one however in a suburb of the city there lived a young girl called Yacinta who was a little better off than the rest thanks to her sweetheart Valentine for if someone thinks you are beautiful and loses no chance to tell you so he is almost as good as a mirror tell me the truth she would say what is the color of my eyes they are like dewy forget-me-nuts and my skin is not quite black you know that your forehead is whiter than freshly fallen snow and your cheeks are like blush roses how about my lips cherries are pale beside them and my teeth if you please grains of rice are not as white but my ears should I be ashamed of them yes if you would be ashamed of two pink shells among your pretty curls and so on endlessly she delighted he's still more charmed for his words came from the depth of his heart and she had the pleasure of hearing herself praised he the delight of seeing her so their love grew more deep and tender every hour and the day that he asked her to marry him she blushed certainly but it was not with anger but unluckily the news of their happiness reached the wicked queen whose only pleasure was to torment others and Yacinta more than anyone else on account of her beauty a little while before the marriage Yacinta was walking in the orchard one evening when an old crone approached asking for alms but suddenly jumped back with a shriek as if she had stepped on a toad crying heavens what do I see what is the matter my good woman what is it you see tell me the ugliest creature I ever beheld thing you are not looking at me said Yacinta with innocent vanity alas yes my poor child it is you I have been a long time on this earth but never have I met anyone so hideous as you what I am ugly a hundred times uglier than I can tell you but my eyes they are a sort of dirty gray but that would be nothing if you had not such an outrageous squint my complexion it looks as if you would rub cold dust on your forehead and cheeks my mouth it is pale and withered like a faded flower my teeth if the beauty of teeth is to be large and yellow I never saw any so beautiful as yours but at least my ears they are so big so red and so misshapen under your coarse elf-locks that they are revolting I am not pretty myself but I should die of shame if mine were like them after this last blow the old witch having repeated what the queen had taught her hobbled off with a harsh croak of laughter leaving poor Yacinta dissolved in tears prone on the ground beneath the apple trees nothing could divert her mind from her grief I am ugly I am ugly she repeated constantly it was in vain that Valentina assured her and reassured her with the most solemn oaths let me alone you are lying out of pity I understand it all now you never loved me you are only sorry for me the beggar woman had no interest in deceiving me it is only too true I am ugly I do not see how you can endure the sight of me to undeceive her he brought people from far and near every man declared that Yacinta was created to delight the eyes even the women said as much though they were less enthusiastic but the poor child persisted in her conviction that she was a repulsive object and when Valentina pressed her to name the wedding day I, your wife, cried she never I love you too dearly to burn you with a being so hideous as I am you can fancy the despair of the poor fellow so sincerely in love he threw himself on his knees he prayed he supplicated she answered still that she was too ugly to marry him what was he to do? the only way to give the lie to the old woman and prove the truth to the Yacinta was to put a mirror before her but there was no such thing in the kingdom and so great was the terror inspired by the queen that no workman dared to make one well I shall go to court said the lover in despair harsh as our mistress is she cannot fail to be moved by the tears in the beauty of Yacinta she will retract, for a few hours at least this cruel edict which has caused our trouble it was not without difficulty that he persuaded the young girl to let him take her to the palace she did not like to show herself and asked of what use would be a mirror only to impress her more deeply with her misfortune but when he wept her heart was moved and she consented to please him what is all this? said the wicked queen who are these people and what do they want? Your Majesty you have before you the most unfortunate lover on the face of the earth do you consider that a good reason for coming here to annoy me? have pity on me what have I to do with your love affairs? if you would permit a mirror the queen rose to her feet trembling with rage who dares to speak to me of a mirror? she said grinding her teeth do not be angry Your Majesty I beg of you and deign to hear me this young girl whom you see before you so fresh and pretty is a victim of a strange delusion she imagines that she is ugly well said the queen with a malicious grin she is right I never saw a more hideous object Ysinta at these cruel words thought she would die of mortification doubt was no longer possible she must be ugly her eyes closed she fell on the steps of the throne in a deadly swoon but Valentin was affected very differently he cried out loudly that her Majesty he must be mad to tell such a lie he had no time to say more the guard seized him and at a sign from the queen the headsman came forward he was always beside the throne for she might need his services at any moment do your duty said the queen pointing out the man who had insulted her the executioner raised his gleaming axe just as Ysinta came to herself and opened her eyes then two shrieks pierced the air one was a cry of joy for in the glittering steel Ysinta saw herself so charmingly pretty and the other a scream of anguish as the wicked soul of the queen took flight unable to bear the sight of her face in the impromptu mirror End of The Mirror by Katil Mond recorded by James Christopher JxChristopher at yahoo.com Mrs. Mann Stays View by Edith Wharton this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Reena Toby Mrs. Mann Stays View by Edith Wharton as first published in Scribner's magazine July 1891 the view from Mrs. Mann Stays Window was not a striking one but to her at least it was full of interest and beauty Mrs. Mann Stays occupied the back room on the third floor of a New York boarding house in a street where the ash barrels lingered late on the sidewalks and the gaps in the pavement would have staggered a quintess courteous she was the widow of a clerk in a large wholesale house and his death had left her alone for her only daughter had married in California and could not afford the long journey to New York to see her mother Mrs. Mann Stays perhaps might have joined her daughter in the west but they had now been so many years apart that they had ceased to feel any need of each other's society and their intercourse had long been limited to the exchange of a few perfunctory letters written with indifference by the daughter and with difficulty by Mrs. Mann Stays whose right hand was growing stiff with gout even had she felt a stronger desire for her daughter's companionship Mrs. Mann Stays increasing infirmity which caused her to dread the three flights of stairs between her room and the street would have given her pause on the eve of undertaking so long a journey and without perhaps formulating these reasons she had long since accepted as a matter of course her solitary life in New York she was indeed not quite lonely for a few friends still toiled up now and then to her room but their visits grew rare as the years went by Mrs. Mann Stays had never been a sociable woman and during her husband's lifetime his companionship had been all sufficient to her for many years she had cherished a desire to live in the country to have a hen house and a garden but this longing had faded with age leaving only in the breast of the uncommunicative old woman a vague tenderness for plants and animals it was perhaps this tenderness that her clings so fervently to her view from her window a view in which the most optimistic I would at first have failed to discover anything admirable Mrs. Mann Stays from her coin advantage a slightly projecting bow window where she nursed an ivy and a succession of unwholesome looking bulbs looked out first upon the yard of her own dwelling of which however she could get the topmost bow of the Alianthus below her window and she knew how early each year the clump of Dysantra strong its bending stalk with hearts of pink but of greater interest with the yards beyond being for the most part attached to boarding houses they were in a state of chronic untidiness and fluttering on certain days of the week with miscellaneous garments and frayed table-claws in spite of this Mrs. Mann Stays which she commanded some of the yards were indeed but stony wastes with grass in the cracks of the pavement and no shade and spring save that afforded by the intermittent leafage of the clothes-lines these yards Mrs. Mann Stays disapproved of but the others, the green ones she loved she had grown used to their disorder the broken barrels, the empty bottles and paths up and swept no longer made her hers was the happy faculty of dwelling on the pleasanter side of the prospect before her in the very next enclosure did not a magnolia open its hard white flowers against the watery blue of April and was there not a little way down the line a fence foamed over every May be lilac waves of wisteria farther still a horse-chestnut lifted its candelabra of buff and pink blossoms above broad fans of foliage while in the opposite yard June was sweet with the breath of a neglected syringe which persisted in growing in spite of the countless obstacles opposed to its welfare but if nature occupied the front rank in Mrs. Mann Stays view there was much of a more personal character to interest her in the aspect of the houses and their inmates she deeply disapproved of the mustard-colored curtains which had lately been hung in the doctor's window opposite but she glowed with pleasure when the house farther down had its old bricks washed with a coat of paint the occupants of the houses did not often show themselves at the back windows but the servants were always in sight noisy slatterns Mrs. Mann Stays pronounced the greater number she knew their ways and hated them but to the quiet cook in the newly painted house whose mistress bullied her and who secretly fed the stray cats at nightfall Mrs. Mann Stays warmest sympathies were given on one occasion her feelings were wracked by the neglect of a housemaid who for two days forgot to feed the parrot committed to her care on the third day Mrs. Mann Stays in spite of her gouty hand had just penned a letter beginning, Madam it is now three days since your parrot has been fed when the forgetful maid appeared at the window with a cup of seed in her hand but in Mrs. Mann Stays more meditative moods it was the narrowing perspective of far off yards which pleased her best she loved at twilight when the distant brownstone spire seemed melting in the fluid yellow of the west to lose herself in vague memories of a trip to Europe made years ago now reduced in her mind's eye to a pale fantasmagoria of indistinct steeples and dreamy skies perhaps at heart Mrs. Mann Stays was an artist at all events she was sensible of many changes of color unnoticed by the average eye and dear to her as the green of early spring was the black lattice of branches against a cold sulfur sky at the close of a snowy day she enjoyed also the sunny thaws of March when patches of earth showed through the snow like ink spots spreading on a sheet of white blotting paper and better still the haze of bows leafless but swollen which replaced the clear cut tracery of winter she even watched with a certain interest the trail of smoke from a far off factory chimney and missed a detail in the escape when the factory was closed and the smoke disappeared Mrs. Mann Stays in the long hours which she spent at her window was not idle she read a little and knitted numberless stockings but the view surrounded and shaped her life as the sea does a lonely island when her rare collars came it was difficult for her to detach herself from the contemplation of the opposite window washing or the scrutiny of certain green points in a neighboring flower bed which might or might not turn into hyacinths while she feigned an interest in her visitors anecdotes about some unknown grandchild Mrs. Mann Stays real friends were the denizens of the yards the hyacinths, the magnolia the green parrot the maid who fed the cats the doctor who studied late behind his mustard-colored curtains and the light on of her tenderer musings was the church spire floating in the sunset one April day as she sat in her usual place with knitting cast aside and eyes fixed on the blue sky modeled with round clouds a knock at the door announced the entrance of her landlady Mrs. Mann Stays did not care for her landlady but she submitted to her visits it seemed harder than usual to turn from the blue sky and the blossoming magnolia to Mrs. Samson's unsuggestive face and Mrs. Mann Stays was conscious of a distinct effort as she did so the magnolia is out earlier than usual this year Mrs. Samson she remarked yielding to a rare impulse for she seldom alluded to the absorbing interest of her life in the first place it was a topic likely to appeal to her visitors and besides she lacked the power of expression and could not have given utterance to her feelings had she wished to the what Mrs. Mann Stays inquired the landlady glancing about the room as if to find there was an explanation of Mrs. Mann Stays' statement the magnolia in the next yard in Mrs. Black's yard Mrs. Mann Stays repeated is it indeed I didn't know there was a magnolia said Mrs. Samson carelessly Mrs. Mann Stays looked at her she did not know that there was a magnolia in the next yard by the way Mrs. Samson continued speaking of Mrs. Black reminds me that the work on the extension is to begin next week the what? it was Mrs. Mann Stays turn to ask the extension said Mrs. Samson nodding her head in the direction of the ignored magnolia of course it Mrs. Black was going to build an extension to her house yes ma'am I hear it is to run right back to the end of the yard how she can afford to build an extension in these hard times I don't see but she always was crazy about building she used to keep a boarding house in 17th Street and she nearly ruined herself then by sticking out bow windows and what not I should have thought that that would have cured her building but I guess it's a disease like drink anyhow the work is to begin on Monday Mrs. Mann Stays had grown pale she always spoke slowly so the landlady did not heed the long pause which followed at last Mrs. Mann Stays said do you know how high the extension will be that's the most absurd part of it the extension is to be built right up to the roof of the main building now did you ever Mrs. Mann Stays paused again won't it be a great annoyance to you Mrs. Samson she asked I should say it would but there's no help for it if people have a mind to build extensions there's no law to prevent them that I'm aware of Mrs. Mann Stays knowing this was silent there is no help for it Mrs. Samson repeated but if I am a church member so sorry if it ruined Eliza Black well good day Mrs. Mann Stays I'm glad to find you so comfortable so comfortable so comfortable left herself the old woman turned once more to the window how lovely the view was that day the blue sky with its round clouds shed a brightness over everything the Allianthus had put a tinge of yellow green the hyacinths were budding the magnolia flowers looked more than ever like rosettes carved in alabaster soon the wisteria would bloom then the horse-chestnut but not for her between her eyes and them a barrier of brick and mortar would swiftly rise presently even the spire would disappear and all her radiant world be blotted out Mrs. Mann Stays sent away untouched the dinner tray brought to her that evening she lingered in the window until the windy sunset died in bat-colored dusk then going to bed she lay sleepless all night early the next day she was up and at the window it was raining but even through the slanting gray gauze the scene had its charm and then the rain was so good for the trees she had noticed the day before that the Allianthus was growing dusty of course I might move said Mrs. Mann Stays allowed and turning from the window she looked about her room she might move of course so might she be flayed alive but she was not likely to survive either operation the room though far less important to her happiness than the view was as much a part of her existence she had lived in it seventeen years she knew every stain on the wallpaper every rent in the carpet the light fell in a certain way on her engravings her books had grown shabby on their shelves her bulbs and ivy were used to their window and knew which way to lean to the sun we are all too old to move she said that afternoon it cleared wet and radiant the blue reappeared through torn rags of cloud the Allianthus sparkled the earth and the flower borders looked rich and warm it was Thursday and on Monday the building of the extension was to begin on Sunday afternoon a card was brought to Mrs. Black as she was engaged in gathering food the card black edged board Mrs. Manstay's name one of Mrs. Samson's borders wants to move I suppose well I can give her a room next year in the extension Dinah said Mrs. Black tell the lady I'll be upstairs in a minute Mrs. Black found Mrs. Manstay standing in the long parlor garnished with statuettes and anti-McCassers stooping hurriedly to open the register which let out a cloud of dust Mrs. Black advanced on her visitor I'm happy to meet you Mrs. Manstay take a seat please the landlady remarked in her prosperous voice the voice of a woman who can afford to build extensions there was no help for it Mrs. Manstay sat down is there anything I can do for you ma'am my house is full at present but I am going to build an extension and it's about the extension that I wish to speak said Mrs. Manstay suddenly I'm a poor woman Mrs. Black and I have never been a happy one I shall have to talk about myself first to to make you understand Mrs. Black astonished by the imperturbable bowed at this parenthesis I never had what I wanted Mrs. Manstay continued it was always one disappointment after another for years I wanted to live in the country I dreamed and dreamed about it but we never could manage it there was no sunny window in our house and so all my plants died my daughter married years ago and went away and besides she never cared for the same things then my husband died and I was left alone that was seventeen years ago I went to live at Mrs. Sampson's and I have been there ever since I have grown a little infirm as you see and I don't get out often only on fine days if I'm feeling very well so you can understand my sitting a great deal in my window the back window on the third floor well Mrs. Manstay said Mrs. Black liberally I could give you a back room I dare say one of the new rooms in the X but I don't want to move I can't move said Mrs. Manstay almost with a scream and I came to tell you that if you build that extension I shall have no view from my window no view do you understand Mrs. Black thought herself face to face with a lunatic must be humored dear me, dear me she remarked pushing her chair back a little way that is too bad isn't it why I never thought of that to be sure the extension will interfere with your view Mrs. Manstay you do understand Mrs. Manstay gasped of course I do and I'm real sorry about it too but there don't you worry Mrs. Manstay I guess we can fix that all right Mrs. Manstay rose from her seat and Mrs. Black slipped toward the door what do you mean by fixing it do you mean that I can induce you to change your mind about the extension oh Mrs. Black listen to me I have two thousand dollars in the bank and I could manage I know I could manage to give you a thousand if Mrs. Manstay paused the tears were rolling down her cheeks there there Mrs. Manstay don't you worry repeated Mrs. Black soothingly I am sure we can settle it I am sorry that I can't stay and talk about it any longer but this is such a busy time of day with supper to get her hand was on the doorknob but with sudden vigor Mrs. Manstay seized her wrist you are not giving me a definite answer do you mean to say that you accept my proposition oh I think it over Mrs. Manstay certainly I will I wouldn't annoy you for the world but the work is to begin tomorrow I am told Mrs. Manstay persisted Mrs. Black hesitated it shan't begin I promise you that I'll send word to the builder this very night Mrs. Manstay tightened her hold you are not deceiving me are you she said no no no stammered Mrs. Black how can you think such a thing of me Mrs. Manstay slowly Mrs. Manstay's clutch relaxed and she passed through the open door $1,000 she repeated pausing in the hall then she let herself out of the house and hobbled down the steps supporting herself on the cast iron railing my goodness exclaimed Mrs. Black shutting and bolting the hall door I never knew the old woman was crazy and she looked so quiet and ladylike too Mrs. Manstay slept well that night but early the next morning she was awakened by a sound of hammering she got to her window with what haste she might and looking out saw that Mrs. Black's yard was full of workmen some were carrying loads of brick from the kitchen to the yard others beginning to demolish the old-fashioned wooden balcony which adorned each story of Mrs. Black's house Mrs. Manstay saw she had been deceived at first she thought of confiding her trouble to Mrs. Samson but a settled discouragement soon took possession of her and she went back to bed not caring to see what was going on toward afternoon, however feeling that she must know the worst she rose and dressed herself it was a laborious task for her hands were stiffer than usual and the hooks and buttons seemed to evade her when she seated herself in the window she saw that the workmen had removed the upper part of the balcony and that the bricks had multiplied since morning one of the men, a coarse fellow with a bloated face slossom and after smelling it threw it to the ground the next man carrying a load of bricks trod on the flower in passing look out Jim called one of the men to another who was smoking a pipe if you throw matches around near those barrels of paper you'll have the old tender box burning down before you know it and Mrs. Manstay leaning forward perceived that there were several barrels of paper and rubbish under the wooden balcony at length the work ceased and twilight fell the sunset was perfect and a rosy-et light transfiguring the distant spire lingered late in the west when it grew dark Mrs. Manstay drew down the shades and proceeded in her usual methodical manner to light her lamp she always filled and lit it with her own hands keeping a kettle of kerosene on a zinc covered shelf as the lamp light filled the room it assumed its usual peaceful aspect the books and pictures and plants seemed like they're mistresses to settle themselves down for another quiet evening and Mrs. Manstay as was her want drew up her armchair to the table and began to knit that night she could not sleep the weather had changed and a wild wind was abroad blotting the stars with close driven clouds Mrs. Manstay rose once or twice and looked out of the window but of the view nothing was discernible save a tardy light or two in the opposite windows these lights at last went out and Mrs. Manstay who had watched for their extinction began to dress herself she was in evident haste for she merely flung a thin dressing gown over her nightdress and wrapped her head in a scarf she opened her closet and cautiously took out the kettle of kerosene having slipped a bundle of wooden matches into her pocket she proceeded with increasing precautions to unlock her door and a few moments later she was feeling her way down the dark staircase led by a glimmer of gas from the lower hall at length she reached the bottom of the stairs and began the more difficult descent into the utter darkness of the basement here however she could move more freely as there was less danger of being overheard and without much delay she contrived to unlock the iron door leading into the yard a gust of cold wind smote her as she stepped out and groped shiveringly under the clothes lines that morning at three o'clock an alarm of fire brought the engines to Mrs. Black's door and also brought Mrs. Samson's startled borders to their windows the wooden balcony at the back of Mrs. Black's house was ablaze and among those who watched the progress of the flames was Mrs. Manstay leaning in her thin dressing gown from the open window the fire however was soon put out and the frightened occupants of the house who had fled and scant a tire reassembled at dawn to find that little mischief had been done beyond the cracking of window panes and smoking of ceilings in fact the chief sufferer by the fire was Mrs. Manstay who was found in the morning gasping with pneumonia a not unnatural result as everyone remarked of her having hung out of an open window at her age in a dressing gown it was easy to see that she was very ill but no one had guessed how grave the doctor's verdict would be and the faces gathered that evening about Mrs. Samson's table were awestruck and disturbed not that any of the borders knew Mrs. Manstay well she kept to herself as they said and seemed to fancy her herself too good for them but then it is always disagreeable to have anyone dying in the house and as one lady observed to another it might just as well have been you or me my dear but it was only Mrs. Manstay and she was dying as she lived lonely not alone the doctor had sent a trained nurse and Mrs. Samson with muffled step came in from time to time but both to Mrs. Manstay seemed remote and unsubstantial as the figures in a dream all day she said nothing but when she was asked for her daughter's address she shook her head at times the nurse noticed that she seemed to be listening attentively for some sound which did not come and she dozed the next morning at daylight she was very low the nurse called Mrs. Samson and as the two bent over the old woman they saw her lips move lift me up out of bed she whispered they raised her in their arms and with her stiff hand she pointed to the window oh the window she wants to sit in the window she used to sit there all day Mrs. Samson explained it can do her no harm I suppose nothing matters now said the nurse they carried Mrs. Manstay to the window and placed her in her chair the dawn was abroad a jubilant spring dawn the spire had already caught a golden ray though the magnolia and horse chestnuts still slumbered in shadow in Mrs. Black's yard all was quiet the charred timbers of the balcony lay where they had fallen it was evident that since the fire the builders had not returned to their work the magnolia had unfolded a few more sculptural flowers the view was undisturbed it was hard for Mrs. Manstay to breathe each moment it grew more difficult she tried to make them open the window but they would not understand if she could have tasted the air sweet with the penetrating alianthus savor it would have eased her but the view at least was there the spire was golden now the heavens had warmed from pearl to blue day was a light from east to west even the magnolia had caught the sun Mrs. Manstay's head fell back and smiling she died that day the building of the extension was resumed the end Mrs. Manstay's view by Edith Wharton recording by Reena Tobi this is the LibraVox recording all LibraVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please go to LibraVox.org The Necklace by Guy Timor-Pesson read by Cheyenne Welling she was one of those pretty and charming ladies born as if through an era of destiny into a family of clerks she had no dowry no hopes no means of becoming known, appreciated, loved and married by a man rich and distinguished she allowed herself to marry a petty clerk in the Ministry of Public Instruction she dressed plainly because she could not dress well but she was as unhappy as though she had married beneath herself for women have no caste or class their beauty, grace and charm serving them for birth or family their natural delicacy their instinctive elegance and their nibbleness of wit are their only mark of rank at every level with the highest lady in the land she suffered intensely feeling herself born for every delicacy and luxury she suffered from the poverty of her dwelling from the worn walls the abraded chairs the ugliness of the stuffs all these things which another woman of her caste would not even have noticed tortured her and made her indignant the sight of the little girl from Brittany who did her humble housework and her desolated regrets and distracted dreams she let her mind well on the quiet antechambers hung with oriental deepest streets lighted by tall lamps of bronze and of the two tall footmen in knee breeches who dozed in the large armchairs made drowsy by the heat of the furnace she thought of large drawing rooms hung in old silks of graceful pieces of furniture carrying brick abrac of inestimal value and of the perfume coquettish little rooms made for 5 o'clock chat with the most intimate friends men well known and sought after whose intentions all women envied and desired when she seated herself for dinner before the round table where the tablecloth had been used for three days opposite of her husband who lifted the cover of the terrine declaring with an air of satisfaction ah the good pot pie I don't know anything better than that she was thinking of delicate repass with glittering silver with tapestries peopling the walls with ancient figures and with strange birds in a fairy-like forest she was thinking and served in marvelous platters of compliment whispered and heard with a spink-like smile while she was eating the rosy flesh of a trout or the wings of a quail she had no dresses no jewels nothing and these were the only things she loved she felt that she was made for them she longed so eagerly to be charming to be desirable to be wildly attractive and sought after she had a rich friend an old school friend whom she refused to visit because she'd suffered so keenly when she returned home she would weep whole days with grief regret despair and misery but one evening her husband came in with a proud air holding in his hand a large envelope dare said he there's something for you she quickly tore the paper and took out of it a printed card which bore these words the minister of public instruction and madame ropeño request the honor of mancio and madame doizel's company at the palace of the ministry on monday morning january 18 what do you want me to do with that why my dear i thought you would be glad you never grow out and this is a fine opportunity i had great trouble to get it everyone wants to go it is very select and they are not giving many invitations to clerk the whole official world will be there she looked at him with an irritated eye and she declared with impatience and what do you wish me to put on my back he had not thought of that he stammered why the dress to the theater in it looks very well to me he stopped, distracted seeing that his wife was weeping two big tears were descending slowly from the corners of the eyes to the corners of the mouth he stuttered what's the matter what's the matter but by a violent effort she had conquered her trouble and she replied in a calm voice as she wiped her damp cheeks nothing and in consequence i cannot go to this party give your car to some colleague whose wife is better equipped than i he was heartbroken he began again see here matilde how much would this cost a proper dress which would do on other occasions something very simple she reflected a few seconds going over her calculations thinking also of the sum which she might ask without meaning an immediate refusal and a frightened exclamation from the frugal clerk at last she answered hesitantly i don't know exactly but it seems to me that with 400 francs i might do it he paled for he was reserving just that sum to buy a gun and treat himself to a little shooting next summer on the plane of nantia but he said all right i will give you 400 francs but take care to have a pretty dress the day of the party grew near and madame wasel seemed sad restless and anxious yet her dress was ready on one evening her husband said to her what's the matter come now you have been quite queer these last three days and she answered i am utterly miserable not having any jewels not a single stone to wear i shall look like distress i would almost rather not go to this party where flowers he said they're very smart at this time of year for 10 francs you could get two or three of the most gorgeous roses she was not convinced no there's nothing so humiliating as looking poor in the middle rich women but her husband cried what a goose you are go find your friend madame fortestier and asked her to lend you some jewelry you know her well enough to do that she gave a cry of joy that's true i had not thought of it the next day she went to her friend and told her of her distress madame fortestier went to her mirrored wardrobe she had a large casket brought it opened it and said to madame loiselle choose my dear she saw at first bracelets then a necklace of pearls then a venetian cross of gold set with precious stones of an admirable workmanship she tried on the ornaments before the glass hesitated it could not decide to take them off or to give them up she kept on asking yes yes look i don't know what will happen to please you all at once she discovered in a box of black satin a superb necklace of diamonds and her heart began to beat with boundless desire her hands trembled and taking it up she fastened it around her throat on her high dress and remained in ecstasy before herself then she asked hesitating full of anxiety can you lend me this only this yes yes certainly she sprang to her friend's neck kissed her with adieu then escaped with her treasure the day of the party arrived madame loiselle was a success she was the prettiest of them all elegant, gracious, smiling and mad with joy all the men were looking at her inquiring her name asking to be introduced all the attachés of the cabinet wanted to dance with her the minister took notice with her she danced with delight with passion and intoxicated with pleasure thinking of nothing in the triumph of her beauty in the glory of her success in a sort of cloud of happiness made up of all these tributes of all the admirations of all these awakened desires of this victory so complete and so sweet to a woman's heart she went away about four in the morning since midnight her husband had been dosing in the little ante room with three other men whose wives were having a good time he threw over her shoulders the wraps he had brought to go home in modest garments of everyday life the poverty of which was out of keeping with the elegance of the baldress she felt this and wanted to fly so as not to be noticed by the other women who were wrapping themselves up in rich furs lazel kept her back wait a minute you will catch cold outside I will call a cab but she did not listen to him and went downstairs rapidly when they were in the street they could not find a carriage and they set out in search of one hailing the drivers whom they saw passing they went down towards the Sien disgusted shiver finally they found on the croix one of those old night-hawk cabs which one sees in Paris only after night has fallen as if they are ashamed of their misery in the daytime it brought them to the door ruse des motiers and they went up their stairs sadly for her it was finished and he was thinking that he would have to be at the ministry at ten o'clock she took off the wraps with which she had covered her shoulders before the mirror so as to see herself once more in her glory but suddenly she gave out a cry she no longer had the necklace around her throat her husband half undressed already asked what is the matter with you she turned to him terrorist drunken I... I... I don't have Madame Faustier's diamond necklace he jumped up frightened what? how? it is not possible and they searched in the folds of the dress in the folds of the wrap in the pockets everywhere they did not find it he asked are you sure you still had it when you left the ball yes I touched it in the vestibule of the ministry but if you had lost it in the streets we should have heard it fall it must be in the cab yes that's probable did you take down the number no and you... you did not even look at it no they gazed at each other crushed at last Loiselle said again I'm going back the whole distance we came from on foot to see if I cannot find it and he went out she stayed there in her ball dress without strength to go to bed overwhelmed on a chair without a fire without a thought her husband came back about seven o'clock he had found nothing then he went to police headquarters and newspapers to offer a reward to the cab company he did everything in fact that a trait of hope could urge him to she waited all day in the same day state in the face of this horrible disaster Loiselle came back in the evening with his face worn and white he had discovered nothing you must write to your friend he said that you have broken the clasp and that you are having it repaired that will give us time to turn around she wrote as he dictated at the end of the week they had lost all hope and Loiselle aged by five years declared we must see how we can replace those jewels the next day they took the case which had held them to the jeweler whose name was in the cover and insulted his books it was not I, madame who sold this necklace I only supplied the case then they went from jeweler to jeweler looking for a necklace like the other consulting their memory sick both of them with grief and anxiety finally in a shop in the palace royal they found a diamond necklace that seemed to them absolutely like the one they were seeking at a price at 40,000 francs they could have it for 36 they begged the jeweler not to sell it for three days and they made a bargain that he should take it back for 34,000 if the first was found before the end of February Loiselle possessed 18,000 francs which his father had left him he had to borrow the remainder he borrowed asking a thousand francs from one five hundred from another five here three louis there he gave promissory notes dealt with usurers with all kinds of lenders he compromised the end of his life risked his signature without even knowing whether it could be paid back and frightened by all the anguish of the future by the black misery which was about to settle down on him the fact of all sorts of deprivations and all sorts of moral tortures he went to buy the need diamond necklace laying down on the jeweler's counter 36,000 francs when madame Loiselle took back the necklace to madame forestier the latter said with an irritated air you ought to have brought it back sooner for I might have needed it she did not open the case which her friend had been fearing if she had noticed the substitution what would she have thought what would she have said might she not have been taken for a thief madame Loiselle learned the horrible life of the needy she made the best of it moreover frankly, heroically the frightful debt must be paid she would pay it they dismissed the servant they changed their rooms they took an attic under the roof the rough work of the household the odyslabors of the kitchen she washed the dishes wearing out her pink nails on the greasy pots in the bottoms of the pans she washed the dirty linens the shirts, the towels for which she dried on a rope she carried down the garbage she distreats every morning and she carried up the water pausing for breath on every floor and dressed like a woman of the people she went to the food work to the grocer the butcher, a basket on her arm buried me, insulted fighting for her wretched money sew by sew every month they had to pay notes to renew others to gain time the husband worked in the evening keeping up the books of a shopkeeper and at night often he did copying at five sews a page this life lasted ten years at the end of ten years they had paid everything back everything with the rates of usury and all the accumulation of heat of interest madame wozela seemed aged now she had become the robust woman hard and rough of a poor household badly combed her skirts already in her hands red her voice was loud and she washed the floor with splashing water but sometimes when a husband was at the office she sat down by the window and she saw that evening long ago of that ball where she had been so beautiful and so admired what would have happened if she had not lost a necklace who knows how singular life is how changeable what a little thing it takes a saviour or to lose you then one sunday as she was taking a turn in the shops and at the time she was walking with a child it was madame forestier still young still beautiful still seductive madame wozela felt moved should she speak to her yes certainly and now that she had paid up she would tell her all why not she drew near she drew near good morning Jean the other did not recognize her astonished to be healed thus familiarly by this woman of the people she hesitated but madame I don't know are you not making a mistake no I am Matilde Lozelle her friend gave a cry oh my poor Matilde how are you changed yes I have had hard days since I saw you in many troubles and not because of you of me? how so you remember that diamond necklace that you lent me to go to the ball at the ministry yes and then well I lost it how can that be since you brought it back to me I brought you back another just like it and it has taken us 10 years to pay for it you will understand that it was not easy for us who had nothing at last it is done and I am mightily glad you say that you brought a diamond necklace to replace mine yes you never noticed it then they were very similar and she smiled with a proud and naive joy at first yea much moved took her by both hands oh my poor Matilde but mine were paced at most they were worth 500 francs