Life — August 21, 1884 — page 7: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

CHAPTER Il. HEN Sardége Fedorevona, Countess Handsoff, known to all her friends by the petz¢ nom of “ Sardine,” had reached her sixteenth year, she had the pale, spiritual apgearance of a cellar-grown squash ;—the same white ethe- reality, the exquisite delicacy, as of something far too fair and evanescent for man’s rude touch. Her principal points were her large limpid eyes and her enigmatical smile, but it is only right to say that she had the usual allowance of cars, one nose, and a respectable quorum of ‘pearly teeth. She had married Pluton solely and simply for money. This is an admission which is usually not made (though none the less apparent) by a person in her position, but Sardine didn’t care." To be sure, she was stuck with a great, fat, stupid husband, but she had secured the money and was proud of the transaction, In all her ways she was a thoroughbred Princess. She was as cold and cruel as she was beautiful, and more selfish than either. Men had blown out their brains because she had laughed. They had killed one another because she would n’t laugh. No matter what she did, they died for her and got no more than a passing thought for their pains. Her enemies said, that having once seen her, they welcomed death. You must not think she wassheartless or unnatural, | she was a Princess, and therefore I can tell the most improb- able stories about her and you will have to believe them. 1 am secure in the exercise of my imagination, because you are not well enough acquainted with those of her station to contradict me, and the Princesses who read my tale are too polite to do so, She had awakened from her doze, and the party was aug- mented by the arrival of Monsignor Caprille and Lord Ran- dolph, Lady Branchport’s brother. Sardine Syntaxine was carelessly examining a little volume that she held; it was a list of the victims to her charms. This book (Seaside Library—1884, 4to, pp. 229), contained the names of the men who loved her and had suffered in her cause. She was just looking under the letter O, at the entry : “ Oscomar, Count Stefan ; Date of enlistment—January 3d, 1883; Degree of passion—Distraction ; Remarks—Refused to elope with him, January 8th, 1883; he then went to Tar- tary to try to forget me, and will probably xever return.” As her eye fell upon the last sentence, she heaved a little sigh and shut the book. The sigh might have meant nothing and it might have meant a great deal. I hope you “catch on,” readily. At that moment the servant brought the Princess a card. “ Sardine, who do you think is here?” he said. “ A goose with a diseased liver” (Lord Randolph winced) “‘or a hundred fried oysters!’ said his wife contemptuously. “T can imagine no less cause for so much radiance.” Regardless of her sarcasm, he answered placidly— is Oscomar.” Even the least astute observer might have noticed the love- ly, faint flush which made her cheeks like two pale pink sea- shells. No; it - LIFE: 105 “ Here 's a pretty go!" said the Princess to herself.“ A husband and two lovers on my hands at once. I must get rid of one of them. Unfortunately, the Prince is a fixture, so I guess I will dispense with Lord Randolph.” Peale THAT IDIOT. yacht ?” “ What yacht, Princess ?" he replied, as he looked over the glittering sea. “ That idi-ot,” she answered, pointing in the direction of the English nobleman. A week later, she opened her ledger at the letter R., and wrote opposite the name of RANDOLPH : “Remarks—Gave him a cold snub, June roth, 1883. His body was found float- ing in the water four days later ; verdict, suicide.” And then she smiled one of those mysterious little smiles which could be interpreted only by herself. (To be continued, GASTRONOMY—cooking with a gas-stove. PADDY-WHACK doctrine—Riotousness exalteth a nation. How to ascertain the number of your friends—write a book. APPROPRIATE watering place for professional politicians— Salt River. | | * Banrtinian theory (as practiced by Miss Fanny Davenport et als.)—the art of achieving greatness by growing less. Is 1T not odd that the boot-blacks can command five cents for a shine when the advertisements say, that “The N. Y. Sun shines for all twocents?” Competition is the soul of trade. CA. D. “Count Oscomar,” she said aloud, ** Do you see that other comicbooks.com