Puck — May 1877 — page 13: what you’re looking at

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will not suck blood; he is quite harmless. He is only a slog.” “I do not like slugs.” “It is wrong to dislike them. The good God sends all these creatures for a wise purpose. This Mr. Fox shall perhaps be the means by which one day all: this magnificent place shall become yours. Behold the grand house, made- moiselle—ugly, but an admirable protection against the fogs and mists of the country; see the road leading to it—straight, but easy for the wheels of a carriage. ‘The grounds, you will * notice, are superb; the trees, how magnificent! the flowers, how divine! the river that you see below, between the boughs of the wide-spread- ing oaks, what repose! But stay, Miss Biron— see, more! Look with the eyes of your imagi- nation, and behold what our hopes suggest. Surround that square blank house with a crystal verandah, festooned with jasmine and clematis; smother the walls with roses and passion-flow- ers, that cluster over the large windows, and depend in luxuriant masses from the balconies. ‘The windows open like ours in France, and de- licate silk curtains float in the summer air. It is a fairy palace; and see—it is a féte-day. There is.a striped pavillon upon that extended Jawn, where neat maids dispense cool wine and luscious fruits and bouquets to the guests. ‘There are luxurious couches in the agreeable shade. Along the wide road beneath the arch- ing avenue roll stately equipages, filled with the nobility of the country! Cavaliers and. ladies canter over the turf; a gilded barge floats upon the silver Thames, and the swans feed from the dimpled hands of infants. In the sa/onreclines a lady—young, beautiful, elegant— surrounded by worshiping genius, Musicians, painters, actors, sculptors, poets, artists of every kind, are her guests, and she is their friend—René Biron!” René had French blood in her veins; she was imaginative; she was but fifteen; and the French, highly-colored and dramatic picture drawn for her by M. de Gaillefontaine appealed at once to her ambition, vanity and imagina- tion. M. de Gaillefontaine stepped inside a pace to note the effect of his words. René stood for two minutes motionless, looking over the lawn and flower-beds before her in silent reverie. Then, with a little blushing laugh, she turned, and slipped her hand under the arm of M. de Gaillefontaine. CHAPTER VI. Arter dinner M. de Gaillefontaine sat a while with René beside the open window which looked on to the river, and chatted pleasantly of men he had known, and things he had seen, and places he had visited. He had married young and lost his wife, and to dispel his sor- row had traveled wherever his adventurous spirit inclined him. He knew four or five languages, and was a master of fence, and upcn teaching he relied for support whenever there was no casier or more remunerative employment to be had. He had taught German in Russia, and Italian in England. He had fought under Garibaldi; he was in Paris during the siege, and came out of the city at night in a balloon. He had written articles for newspapers, invented ma- chines, and been engaged in a dozen ineffec- tual schemes to obtain a permanent income without working for it. When he had money he spent it freely and boldly, never troubling himself about consequences and the affairs of to-morrow. It was interesting to him, and not at all dispiriting, to find his possessions reduced to a few small coins. ‘‘ Now we shall see what Fortune has in store for us this time,” he would say gaily. A man with his experiences and his light temperament is always assuming as a com- panion, fascinating even to those whose natures are more sober, whose actions are based upon firmer principles. What the principles were which governed M. de Gaillefontaine’s conduct of life he told René, and would tell any one else unreservedly, “I recognize my duty to myself and to my fellow-man. My first duty is to take care of this body which Providence has given to my soul to live in. I feed it, I clothe it, I keep it warm in the winter, and cool in the summer. I. economize its powers, that it shall last me long, and be pleasant to dwell in always. To do so I give it what exercise is necessary and agreeable, and avoid putting it to the daily drudgery which, my God, will destroy the body of a horse-cart. And my duty to my fellow- man is to love my friend, to help him, to give him half of that I have, to risk my life for his, to love him truly, and hate his enemies as he hates mine. As for my enemy—ah, my duty to myself requires of me that I put that enemy out of my way. If he is an ignorant brute, I move him away gently; if he is an obstinate beast, I kick him; if he is a serpent, I put my heel upon his head and crush his life out. It is true!”” When the air blew cool and the stars began to twinkle, M. de Gaillefontaine bade René adieu, and strolled out upon the green with a cigar in his mouth, and one hand in his swell- ing bosom. 7 René still sat by the window, her hands folded in her lap, her mind occupied with meditation, Her present position was but of slight con- sideration to her; for she was by nature fearless and bold, and as fond of adventure as M. de Gaillefontaine himself, to whom his spirit had endeared her. She was prepared to accept all that he had predicted for her, and she was ready if his hopes were frustrated to obtain a living by teaching or whatever occupation she could get. If any one whom she respected had said to her now, “It is better to eat bread and salt and earn it, than to feast in idleness, leaving your noblest faculties undeveloped,” she would have dissolved partnership at once with M. de Gaillefontaine. She knew nothing of the duties and responsibilities of life; in nice points her sense of right and wrong had never been ap- pealed to. How should it be otherwise, poor child? From her infancy she had known only her father, her tutor, the servants, and the most madcap of the village girls. Her father indulged her to excess, only chided her when some par- ticular act of daring jeopardized her safety or took her too long from his side. Her tutor, M. de Gaillefontaine, loved himself too much or too greatly admired the girl’s daring to re- buke her or mention one word to her father of the bold things she did, and the manner in which she set his authority at defiance; and for the rest they loved her too well to look upon her faults unkindly, Thus she was spoilt, if one may say so of her who know no evil thought, who was free from malice, who was inflexible in executing a purpose which she believed right, who would step from the primrose path into the thorny way if a loving finger pointed, whose very heart was weeping now for the dead father. It is not hard whilst daylight lasts, and there is movement and life around us, to make the heart obedient to the will. We answer when we are spoken to, we smile, nay, we can even laugh a little; we eat, and we are left alone, we follow with our eyes the words upon a printed page, and gather from them some vague idea of their sense; we can for a few moments forget altogether that we have hearts at all. But when the night falls the will demands rest, and un- restrained the tears well up from the bursting heart, and sobs shake the feeble body. The stillness speaks of the busy hands folded now forever. ‘The very silence tells us of our loss, and recalls to memory the voice that is hushed to be heard again no more. The tender winds igh, the stars twinkle like tear-laden eyes of heaven, and their sympathy moves us to weep. Imagination sleeps; only memory remains awake to us. First one tear coursed down René’s cheek as she remembered a quaint word of parting her father had used at night; and then she thought of his morning smile, the series of little strain- ing hugs with which he had greeted her return tohim. She recalled the little lectures he had given her after her tscapades. Ah, how readily she had forgotten them then! how they clun; to her now! The tears dropped from her hee upon her hands as they lay on her lap. She laid her arm along the window-sill, and her cheek upon her arm, and her eyes rested upon the faint outline of the distant trees against the pale sky—she thinking the while of the row of tall poplars near the old home, where at this time often she had listened to the tinkling bells hung around the necks of the horses, as her father drove up returning from market. ‘He used to call ‘René!’ loudly long before I could see him,’” she thought, and checked her sobs as if thinking she might once again hear the deep soft voice; and then she gave way to pas- sionate tears, and her heart throbbed and heaved as though it strove to break. CHAPTER VII. M. pe GaILerontaine strolled leisurely to the lodge of Riverford, and inquired if Mr. Biron was yet returned. ‘The lodge-keeper said “No” emphatically. ‘The French gentleman was not astonished; doubtless the esquire would not return for some days; but his granddaughter must weep until she laid her head upon his bosom, and it was for her satisfaction he en- couraged himself to trouble monsieur the lodge- keeper at that late hour. ‘No trouble,” said the man. Ah, it was very good of him to in- terest himself in the beautiful unhappy young lady. Perhaps he would be so good as to lay these cards on Mr. Gregory Biron’s table. “I'll send ’em up,” the man said. M. de Gaillefon- taine offered him one thousand thanks, and left his own card with that of Miss René Biron for the lodge-keeper and his wife to speculate over. Then he returned to the Ferry-boat, and took aseat in the coffee-room, where harmony pre- vailed, and asked for a long pipe and porter- beer. | He joined in the choruses, applauded, sang a song when called upon, and conversed with every one without reservation, telling can- didly that he was but a poor friend of the beauti- ful Miss René Biron, and should have the hap- piness to stay amongst them only until the return of Mr. Gregory Biron to his home. “Well, he’s at home now, if the Jack aren’t got him,” said Sir Humphrey Clinker’s George; “T see him this afterneun angling down by the two-willer eyot.” “You must be mistaken!” cried M. de Gaille- fontaine. “Beg pardon, sir, I'm not. I see him and Tom Reynolds in the new punt, and I'll lay a guinea you'll find him there to-morrow, so be this weather holds on.” “Then truly Mr. Fox he was mistaken when he told me.” “Not at all unlikely, my way of thinking. He don’t want to see any of the old man’s kin theare. What did I tell yeu, Blake, long ago? I says in this very parlor when we was talking matters over, I says, that Fox means to have old Biron’s money, and he'll get every one out of he’s way 'fore he'll let em have a share of it—didn’t 1?” Q “Well, Garge,” said the diplomatic host, “tain't no business of mine, and ’tain’t no business of yeurn. I ain’t 'tickler fond of old Biron, and he ain’t 'tickler fond of me.” “Nor no’ne else,” said George the conten- tious. “Some people never sce a mad dog acout ,comicbooks.com