Then these little creatures have the
mysterious entrancing smiles, which mothers understand and adore--and
Delsarte loved his children with a mother's heart.
Time lessens such pangs; but when a fresh sorrow re-opened the era of
calamity, it seems as if the sad events trod upon each other's heels and
the interval between seems to have been but one unmitigated agony.
The loss undergone in 1863 was even greater. Xavier Delsarte was a tall,
handsome young man. The master was content with the profit which his son
had derived from his tuition. He was successful as a singer and
elocutionist. He was attacked by cholera during an epidemic. The night
before he had taken several glasses of iced orgeat in the open air.
Xavier lived in the Rue des Batailles with his family, but not in the
same apartment. This fact was fatal. Instead of calling help in the
first stages--unwilling to disturb his relatives--the invalid wandered
down stairs during the night, and into the court-yard. There he drank
water from the pump. I can still recall the unhappy father's story of
that cruel moment.
"It was scarcely day. I was waked by that unexpected, fatal ringing of
the bell, which, at such an hour, always bodes misfortune. The maid
heard it also, and opened the door. She uttered a cry of alarm. Almost
instantly, my poor boy stood at my chamber door. He leaned against the
frame of the door, his strength not allowing him to advance.
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