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How a Famous Chef
Serves Alligator Pears HE alligator pear grows on a fine, spreading evergreen ^ tree with leaves large and oval in shape. While native of northern South America, it is now ?widely grown in the West Indies and Florida. The alligator pear is also known as "midshipman's butter" and is one of the best of all tropical fruits, being easily digested, wholesome and nourishing. An analysis shows it to contain twenty per cent fat, and in a form which can be taken by the most delicate persons, even when they cannot partake of fat from an ani mal Bource. The alligator pear requires very few trials before one becomes ex tremely fond of It. In addition to being palatable, it is a great aid in building up both muscular and ner vous systems. , There are various manners in which the alligator pear may be YOU MIGHT TRY? To Prevent Fading. TO prevent the fading of ginghams, calicos and lawns, dissolve Ave cents worth of sugar of lead in a pailful of lukewarm water. Put the goods into it and let stand for three or four hours. Wring out, dry and press in the UBUal way. This process also shrinks the goods. To Remove Iodine Stains. r remove a tincture of iodine stainB from your 6kin or clothing strong ammonia water is excellent. To Clean Black Satin. PEEL and slice two large raw potatoes, put into a pint of water with a pinch of salt and let stand all night. Next morning sponge the satin on the right side with this mixture and wipe lightly with a cloth. Then Iron on the wrong side. A Southern Cook's Advice. WTHEN frying griddle cakes rub the griddle with a small bag of salt. The Vf cakes will be just as brown ana the room not filled with disagreeable odors. To Clean Windows. TO clean windows satisfactorily a little turpentine dissolved in warm water is the best thing to use. For Tender Feet. IP the feet are tender bathe them often in strong alum and boric acid. It should bo applied when the flesh is dry and allowed to dry on the feet. served, but it is generally used as a salad, it is ripe or ready for uuo when it will yield readily to a slight pressure of the fingers. The following recipes for alli gator pears are ones used by the chef of one of New York's most famous hotels: ASTORIA-SALAD?Hearts of Ro maine, covered' with sliced orange, pineapple, grape fruit, and alligator pear cut into small squares and served with French dressing. ALEXANDER SALAD?Take a heart of lettuce, hollow it, and fill hollow space with small spoonfuls of alligator pear and nut meat, and serve with French dressing. MISS SIMPLICITY SALAD ? After removing rind and seed, cut into small squares and serve on a lettuce leaf, with nut meat and a French dressing. A LA CANTALOUPE ?Another and probably the most popular man ner of serving the fruit is to halve It, and after removing seed and lin ing, serve half to each person, with a light sprinkling of salt, or salt, pepper, vinegar and olive oil.. It may also be served in halves, as above, .substituting lime or lemon juice for vinegar; or It Is extremely palatable if halved, served with pre pared salad dressing, (after the lat ter has been thinned with vinegar and olive oil), when It may be eaten In the same manner as a canta loupe. The alligator pear is deserving of even greater popularity, owing to its nourishing and digestible qual ities. What to Feed Your Baby By Dr. H. K. L. SHAW, Director Division of Child Hygiene of the State Health Department of New York. IF your baby must be of the class called "bottle babies," get -the best and cleanest milk you can afford. Mix Ave ounces of the milk with ten ounces of pure water and add two even teaspoonfuls of sugar and % ounce of lime water. This will suffice for one day and should be given at seven feedings, when the child has reached the ago of one week. Prior to that the proportions for a day's ra tions for baby should be two ounces of milk diluted with eight ounces of water, to which are added one tablespoonful of lime water and two even teaspoonfuls of sugar. This is enough for seven feedings. Remember in your allotment that one ounce is about two level tablespoonfuls. Prepare the milk every day from a full, shaken bottle. Place in a well scalded nursing bottle. The milk should be pasteurized. The stopper should be of clean cottin batting. From the age of one week the infant should have an increase in milk of one-half ounce every four days and the water should be increased by one-half ounce every eight dayB. At three months the average child requires eighteen ounces of milk daily, which should be diluted with sixteen ounces of water. To this should be added four even tablespoonfuls of sugar and one or two ounces of lime water. This should be given in six feedings. In mixing the milk and water after the third month, the milk should be increased by one half ounce every six days, and the water should be reduced by one-half ounce about every two weeks. At six months the average child daily es quires twenty-four ounces of milk, which should be diluted with twelve ounces of water. To this should be added one or two ounces of lime water and three even tablespoonfuls of sugar. The amount of milk should now be increased by one-half ounce every week. The milk should be Increased only if the child is hungry and Is digestiug his food well. It should not be increased unless be is hun gry or if he is suffering from indigestion, even though he seems hungry. At nine months the average child requires thirty ounces of milk daily, which should be diluted with eight ounces of water. To this should be added two even tablespoonfuls of sugar and 0110 or two ounces of lime water. This should be given in flvo fee-lings. Tho sugar added may be milk sugar, or if this cannot be obtained, cane (granulated sugar) or maltose (malt sugar). At first plain water should be used to dilute tho milk. After three months a weak barley water may be used in place of the plain water. It is made by adding one-half level table spoonful of barley flour to sixteen ounces of water and cooking for twenty minutes. At six months the barley flotlr may be in creased to one and one-half even tablespoon fuls, cooked in thirteen ounces of water. Give the baby plenty of boiled "water be tween feedings. A very large baby may re quire a little more ^nilk and a small or deli cate baby will require less than the milk al lowed in these directions. After age of one year is reached the chll? should be made to drink its milk from a cup or glass. From tliL% time on to eighteen months there should be five meals dally, as follows: First meal, 6 a. m.?Milk (pasteurized or scalded), eight to ten ounces, and thick bar ley water or-Oatmeal Jelly, two ounces. The juice of one-half and later of a whole orange may bo given at 9 a. m. Second meal, 10 a. m.?Milk with stale bread or zwieback, or well-cooked cereal with milk. Third meal, 2 p. m.?Chicken, beef or mutton broth with boiled rice or stale bread broken in, or scraped beef with bread crumbs, or drink of warm milk if desired, and zwieback or Btale bread. Fourth meal, 6 p. m.?Milk with stale bread or zwieback, well cooked cereal. Fifth imeal, 10 p. m.?Milk, eight to teu ounces, and thick barley water or oatmeal jelly, two ounces. From the age of eighteen months on to two years the child's dally rations should be ar ranged like tlMs: Breakfast, 7:30 a. m.?Juice of whole sweet orange or pulp of four to five stewed prunes. Cereal cooked at least three hours, cornmeal, oatmeal, pettijohn, rice, cracked wheat, wheat ena, sweetened (one-half to one teaspoonful of sugar) or salted, with milk. Glass of milk, warmed, with very stale and preferably dry bread. Baby's -Daily Rations When 1 Week Old When 3 Months Olaj What Baby Should Eat Daily When 6 Months Old When 9 Months Old Socond meal, 11 a. m*?Glass of warmed milk with very stale bread or zwieback or one or two graham crackers. Dinner, 2 p. m.?Choice of one cup of broth or soup made of beef, chicken or mutton and thickened with farina, peas, or rice; or beef juice, two ounces, or dish gravy on stale bread; or soft boiled or poached egg, boiled rice cooked four hours, or one-half baked potato and glass of warmed milk. Dessert?Appie sstuce, blanc-manage, corn starch, custard, junket, stewed prunes or plain rice pudding. '?* Supper, 6:30 p. m.?Well cooked cereal witk milk. Glass of warmed milk. Stale bread and milk. Give at least four glasses of milk a day No food between meals. Water several timea a day. , v; < A Complete Short Story The Bouquet of & Heather & APTAIN CHAUTECL.AIR was a smart and dashing officer, who combined In his manners tho beat qualities of tlie oll'ieer and the man of the world. Ho was not yet forty-five, and had the reputation of being ono of the gayest officers in the army, a brilliant conversational ist, an accomplished singer and a splendid after dinner speaker, alto gether a perfect society man. Nobody knew that under the mask which the world knew ho was a broken-hearted man, to whom life had no value whatever. When very young death had rohhed him oi his beautiful wife, whom/rfc loved passionately. Kllnne do Solange was not rich, but she possessed what Is worth Infinitely moro than money, a heart or gold, and sho was as beautitul as she was' good. When sho left ho church on her wedding day on the arm of her hand some husband, everybody who saw them agreed that they had never seen a happier or better-looking young couple. Nono of them had any Idea that death and sorrow were lurking near them. Though IOllano with her pale com plexion and fair hair looked as- frail as a lily, she was apparently strong and healthy. They had loved each other long he fire the day when the church save them Its blessing?ever since she was a girl In short dresses and he an an gular, awkward boy. And when they grew a little older and learned to know ivhai love really meant, they had built many beautiful castles in the air, which they both felt sure would in time be realized. War, of course, might Beparato them, but who hc-lieved in the possibility of war any longer? And if the war were to come, she would follow her hus band into the field as a nurse, looking after the wounded. It was a brave and courageous wo man Captain Chauteclalr had chosen for his bride, and surely they wero to be happy together. And happy they were, as happy as It is given only to few people to bo In this world, until the day when Death mercilessly struck Eliano down in tho flower of young wife hood. Chauteclalr went almost Insane with grief, but when his tears ceased flow ing ho hid his sacred memories at the very bottom of his soul. lie loved solltudo, but did not seek It, because he understood its danger. Apparently he continued his gay existence as an aripy officer, but ho was firmly determined to court death, should ever bo ablo to do so with honor. Then enme the war of 1870. It Is not l-oeessary to recall the numerles of that dreadful year, when Trance was crushed. Whoever loves his country knows what it means to nee it struggling in the throes of death. When the bugles sounded Captain Chauteclalr was among tho first to depart for the front and no sincerely hoped never lo return, but his wish was not to be fulfilled. ]*n vain did he rush Into tho mad dest fight at Gravelottc. IIo was struck by three bullets, but nono of bis wounds was mortal. He was ,\cked up by an ambulauco and when h~ recovered ho found himselt a prls onr of war at Heidelberg', where a poor ituaslan family filled with en thusiasm for France asked the epeclal favor of offering him a home. With the same firmness of mind they had enabled him :o live through the saddest days of his life, ho now bore his physical suffering without a groan, and no sooner had his wounds healed than he surprised his host and his family by his constant .radiant humor. ' One day, however, the burden of memories nearly overwelmed him and he returned to his room to hide liia sorrow, which the world must never know. It was the anniversary of the death of his wife. He was standing at the window looking Into the foreign landscape, where everything was covered with a layer of snow in spite of tho Spring, and he felt his eyes fill with tears at the thought of the loss of his wife, and the misfortunes of his beloved France. Before his mind's eye he saw this white silent shroud enveloping tho heart of France, and stopping 'ts very heartbeats, but his greatest sor row was that his beloved wife to-day did not get the, bouquet of heather he had placed on her grave on the anniversary throughout the ten years that had passed since she died. This bouquet of heather was liko a breath of his youth, full of sentiment and poetry. The first time he had met EUano she was carrying a bouquet of heath er in her hand, and when they parted she had given him a sprig of the pink flowers as a symbol of a love born at first sight. This sprig of heather had never left him since, on tho battle field or here in his prison days. Tho idea that Eliano was not. lo get her heather this year was more than his strong htart could stand, and he burst out sobbing like a child and buried his face in his hands. I'ooi Chauteclalr! Tho sorrow lie felt was so violent that for a while it robbed him of his senses and ills mind began to wander. Eliane aproachcd him slowly, with noiseless step, silent as a shadow, her face was as he had seen it last, alio was smiling and there was an expres sion of quiot happiness in her won derful blue eyes, whilo her golden hair enveloped her whole figure like a radiant mantle. She came so close to him that at last he felt her warm breath In his face, and suddenly she raised a veil she was wearing and handed him a bouquet of heather. The vision was so strong, so life like that the captain awoko from his dream with a ory. On the tablo in front of him lay a bouquet of heather, tho pinlc flowers covered with snow, and in tho door way stood Eve, tho youngest daugn ter of the family, a little girl of six, embarrassed and sad. She had want ed to surprise him with the flowers and ho had scared her so dreadfully. Tho captain stood at tho window with the bouquet of hoatlicr in liii hand, and a feeling came to him that thoso we have lost^jon the anniver sary of tlioir dcatlwrome back with flowers to thoso who are prevented from placing flowers on their grave. Sacrifice Rewarded A CONVINCING NARRATIVE SHOWING THE DEPTHS OF A WOMAN'S LOVE. NAN turned away from the couch where they had placed /the injured man. She heard what the doctor wa< saying as in a dream. "Sight gone, No hope, I fear. Hero, nurse" There followed a number of instructions as the terrible injuries Tom Lang had sustained \v*re at tended to. There was hardly a slsn of life. Nan Morris had followed on from tlie mill where she worked. She was thinking that Noll might have come, for Nell and Torn were engaged. Poor Tom! Perhaps this accident would open her sister's. eyes to the truth. She went a step nearer to the bed, but the nurse motioned her away. "There is nothing you can do." said the woman. The doctor did not seem to know the girl was there at all. "Nell does not cara," she murmured. Nan made her way to the door. "And he?he never thought of me." It was evening then. No good re turning to the mill. Nan made h'.r way home, to find Nell sitting at Tap per with their mother. "Nol!! Haven't you heard?" "Yes. Poor Tom!" There was a hxird rincr in her voice. Nan dropped wearily into a chair and peered into the fire. "He'll get all right again," said Nell. Nan darted her sister a look. "She never loved him," she thought sadly. With *'ieir mother it was always Nell?Nell, the spoiled one, who re mained at home. Nan worked She tried not to think, but at tiiat moment she caught sight of Nell's dainty white hand, on which a ring sparkled?Tom's gift. "I am going to bed, mother," said Nell. She said it with a drawl,*as she stretched her arms wearily. "I hope there will be better news of Tom." "Nell is feeling it very much," said Mrs. Morris, when Nan and she were alone. NAX CANNOT SLEEP. Nan could not sleep. Tom lying there?dead perhaps. He had been kind to Iter in the old days, before he had seen Nell when she cainc back from her aunt's In town. He would be blind! Nan rpso hastily, and slipped on some clothos. Bang! Bang! Bang! at the door. The gi-rl was down tlio flight of stairs. As she dragged open the door she kiw the hospital nurse. "Miss Morris?" "Yes," panted Nell. "That poor fellow, Tom Lang?he's dying?ho is asking for you?for Nell ?his sweetheart. Quick! Asking for Nell! Nan choked back a sob. "I will fetch her.'' She drew back; the nurse entered the passage. Nan was at her sister's room door. Mrs. Morris called to her, and the girl heard her mother enter ing the apartment behind tier. Nell's bed wus empty?had not been lain in. A Resourceful Servant. "WhatV" cried a mistress to her new maid, whom she hart found sit ting down liv the library with her glands folded. "Hero yon arc sitting down! Why, yon wcro sent In horo to dust the room!" "Yes, ma'am," was the girl's' reply, "but I have lost the duster, and so I nni sitting on each of tho chairs In turn'/' Nan was at the tabic. A letter, a lumpy letter, was sticking' in the cheap mirror. It was addressed to her. She tore it open. "Dear Nan?I cannot marry Tom. I am leaving his ring, and am oft with Jim Brintozi, whom I love.? Nell." "Mother!" cried tho girl. "It is terrible." sho said feebly, "terrible, Mr. Brlnton. lie did show her attention?I" Nan held the ring the letter con tained, and, liarrlly knowing what she did, slipped It on iter finger. In a room with snaded light Tom Lang lay at the point of death. Nan was on her knees by the bed. "Nell," he whispered. "Nell?good of you?not forgotten. I'm blind? I" His hand was on hers, and it seemed to her "that he gave a sigh as he noticed the ring. He sank back. The doctor was there. Nan was conscious that some thing had happened. The silence was less acute. It seemed to her that tho danger was past. ? ? ? ? ? ? ? At the works they were very good to her. She was given leisure to look after the invalid. The following day the injured man was better. He seemed to Nan to be looking at her, but sho knew that he could not see. "It Is good to know you are there, Nan," he said, "but where is Nell?" The girl gave a sob. Of course he could not huve continued in the mis take. "She will be here?" he asked. "Ves?she will?be here." Tom Lnng spoke again, tho words coming with difllculty. "I am going to set her free, you know. It was in my mind?it seems long ago. She can't marry a blind man, can she?" "I?don't?know." And it was In her heart to tell him that her love would never have stopped short at any sacrifice. But then he never cared for her. Day after day Nnn was at the hospital?working on half time, tell ing herself It was her duty to sit with Tom. How could sho ever bring herself to toll him the truth about faithless Nell? She would not dare?no, never. It would be his death. "It is strange," he said, one day? "us both?Nell and I?being 111 like this. You give her my messages? You don't mind sittins with mo?" ho said pitifully. "No, I don't mind. Tom, dear." in-; carkssks men. "You are so good." Ho caressed her toilwom hand. Then a subtle change seemed to her to como to Tom Lang. There were days when ho never mentioned Noll. "You work too hard," ho said to her. "Oh, no," she replied brightly. "Work is the very best tiling." Nan watched him wistfully. Ho re lied more and more on her. It was a According to Contract. MaBtor to Coachman?John, just so down to tho well anil ilraw sonio wa ter for Mollio! John?I was engaged to drive horses and not to draw water, sir. Master?Oh, well. Just get tho horses and carnago\out and drive Mollio to the well, then I relief to her to be with him In the pretty cottage kept by Mrs. Bates, a woman who had been let Into the secret, and who could be trusted to remain silent. Tom watched for the girl. She took him for walks along shady lanea, and lie,apoko of his work?and some times of N'eil. "Nell has gone away," she satd. "We thought If best." "I see," said Tom quietly. "Poor Nell," ho muttered. That was all. He began to speak of Nan, and of her work. 'They tell me," ho said, "that I shall be able to gei oack my sight by de grees. Mr. Baxton was here to-day, and ho spoke as if 1 should soon Oe able to return to work." "I shall bo glad," said the girl. "You arc so good," said Tom. "It seems to me that you never think of yourself." Thanhs to Mr. Baxton, the head of firm, tho operation to his eyes was undertaken by a specialist, and one day Nan saw him standing by tho window gazing nt her. "It is like a new world to me," he said gravely. "Nan, dear, I am so glad to be able to see you." lie took her hand and kissed it, but Nan drew back quickly, a flush over spreading her face. "But Nell," she murmured, thinking that it was due to him to recall tho absent girl. Tom shook his head. '.'I don't think, dear, that wo will speak of Nell. You see, I know." "You know?" cried Nan affrightedly. "How did you know?" "It was ono evening, long ago, when 1 was seated there." Ho pointed to tho Windsor chair. "I thought of Nell. How foolish I was! And you were there; you, tired out with serving others. You dropped to sleep with the book you had been reading to mo- on your lap. It fell to the ground. You began to talk in your sleep, ami then I knew? knew that Nell was no longer any thing to me. that you were keeping the story back for my sake." "Tom, dear, I expect Nell will bo very sorry one dsy. You loved her, you know." "I never loved her," he cried pas sionately. "When I was attracted by her I did not know what lovo was. Nan, darling. It is you who have taught me that, who have shown mo *tho truth." "Tom!" "It Is true. You shielded her. I don't think that thore could bo any one in tlie world liko you. He caught her to hlni. Sho was sobbing now. "Tom, you don't know what you say. It can't be true. You don't know "Oh, Tom,. I never thought?never hoped; but If you aro sure," slio was clinging to him. "Nan, dearest, T know all now, and my accident was tho luckiest chance that could liavo come to me, for it opened my eyes to tho truth." Number One First. "I've got a little Rift here for you and Jim?a bottle of fine old Scotch whiskey," said n kind employer to one of his men. "Drop In at Jlm'B on your way liomo and jjivo aim tills, will you?" "Certainly," replli-d tlio man. But on hl? way lie fell and broke one bottle. "X'oor Jim'" he murmured aa ho picked himself up. Copyright, 1914, by the Star Company. Great Britain Rights Reserved. A Complete Short Story The Heart That c ame Back IS'EE him?I seo Don Juan sitting In his chamber at an Immense table of solid oak, with a big Jug of wlno at his elbow, lie leans against the table and stretches his long legs across the floor, while, ab sorbed In thought, ho stares at the tips of his big boots. So that Is how he loolcs, Don Juan, the famous! IIow old Is ho? Forty years, perhaps? Yes. ho may well be forty with his raven beard| and curly black locks and sparkling' eyes with the llres of hell In them. Look how slender he Is?not an ounco of su perfluous flesh on him. And Don Juan, originally merely a product of imagination, seizes the thought and liecomf^s a living, breath ing creature. lie straightens him self up, strokes his board, runs his fingers through his wavy hair, takes a deep draught from the jug and says: "Well, yes. I?I am forty! What about It? Am I not Don Juan, nev ertheless? Are not all the women of the world at my feet?" He arises and laughs viciously, as a wicked man laughs, with his lips alone, his eyes Ignorant of the laugh. He throws out ills chest and blows himself like a rooster. Ho knows to a point what an omnipotent fellow he Is. Even to-dny he shall seo a new proof of his power,..for the beautiful Isabella has promised to meet him here in this very room. Ho turns on his heel and walks flvn pjH-es along the floor, turns again, walks back, turns otico more?then slops and listens. "H'tn! That was very strange!" Ho raises his head and listens onco more?walks again, stops and listens! Suddenly he discovers that It Is not a sonnu he hears but a sound he misses, something that ought to be heard? something ha# stopped somewhere? but what Is It? Ho remembers once lying on a wa gon, the ungreased wheels of which screeched. The monotonous grind of the wheels mado him fall asleep and followed him into his dreams, until the wagon suddenly stopped and what was nl lirsr a torture because It screeched, now tortured him because It had ceased. Or ho has been listening to the splashing of the rainwater from a gutter throughout a whole long dpy, until the rain began to cease and tho Intervals between the sounds of the dripping from tile gutter grew longer and longar, painfully long. Hut what Is it that la missing now? 'Te stands very quiet, listening, lays his hand on his chest, all', .'.dors, and turns palo with horror! Ills heart Is not beating! Ills heart?his heart! It is lmpo\ sible! He tears open his coat and presses his hand against his naked breast, against his hard ribs. No, his heart Is not heating! He stands thun for a long while, holding his breath. No, it is not beating! It has actu ally stopped! Something has died In the wonderful works within him ?And in a flash It Is revealed to him that It must 1 c a long tlino since his heart was lost. It is this very faith ful tlck-tock he has be<Sn missing for many years. Pcrhups ho never had a heart. Yes, once-?very, very long jiro It was only when his heart was lost and disappeared that ho be came Don Juan, tho Invincible, with a glow In his eyes and an toy *smllo noout I1I3 lips?this dreadful Don Juan, who has nothing: but a shrug of the shoulders for tho unfortunate women who give him their lovo and In return receivo merely contempt Don -luan has no need of a heart. And still! Ho crossed Ms arms and pomlers. Once ho did have a heart. Ho mumbled names of women and counted on his lingers. Maria? How was it about Maria? Didn't ho^swoar twenty long years ago, didn'tfhc swear by ills heart that ho would be faithful to her? Faith ful! llo spat on tho tloor with an outbust of contempt, tt sounded foolish, but nevertheless! Didn't ho pawn ills heart to golden-haired Maria ?and forget all a"bout it? He picked up his hat and went out Into tho street, Tho town was old, and time loves what is old. Surely ^larla must still bo living in the old house at tho gate. Don Juan was stubborn, ho wnated his heart back now, though ho had no need of It Whatever. But the house was gone. Only a heap of ruins was left to mark tho placc whe?e Maria, tho beautiful, lived. Children who never even heard her name played among tho bricks. . Don Juan stopped an old woman who was passing. She pointed with her stick to tho convent. There tho noble gentleman must look for Maria. It was such a sad story, hers. Thero was ono who was faithless to her, and who gave his heart into her keeping. Tho old woman held out her trem bling hand begging tor alms, but Don Juan pushed it aside and rushed away with long strides. Don Juan stood at tho speaking grill In tho convent. A flguro in black approached the other side. Her face was veiled. She was Sistor Maria. "Woman!" said Don Juan, roughly, "you luivo my heart. Give It back to me!" "Do jou remember?" sho asked. "So you ?havo really not forgotten llttlo Maria from the houso at tho gate?" "Give mo my heart," said Don Juan, who is not fond of tho wasting of words. A whlto trembling hand gave him something through tho bars of tho grill. He took it. Ho went away without thanking her, never turning around to look at her, thinking, as always,- merely of himself. iid when ho got outsido ho held tho throbbing heart to his ear and listened. 'How it boats," lie thought. "I wish it wore in my bosom now." And suddenly the heart was back, where it ought to be. The evil glow in his c-yo disappeared, tho vicious smile about his n,,s vanished. Ho bowed his head and sighed. Memories came back to him?everywhere ho saw little Maria, tho golden-haired mu, gentle. There never was a woman w, tho world like hor. 1,1 His pago tantc rushing up to him A strange, noble lady was waiting for him in his chamber. Don Juan must como immediately. But Don Juan shook ills head: What did ho caru for ? tho strange lady. Let her go. Don Juan walked across tho fields In deep thought. Poor Don Juan, ho got back his heart, and ho could nevor love again, never lovo anybody but her who gave him buck tho heart, and sho was beyond his reach.