Puck — July 4, 1877 — page 13: what you’re looking at

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PUCK. 13 might be benefited. ‘The only kinsman known to exist was her cousin Hugh, and his wherea-. bouts were unknown. All that M. de Gaille- fontaine could learn on the matter was that the young artist was abroad. It was doubtful, had he been found, whether he would have partici- pated in an estate which previously he had formally rejected. René was not only shocked by the manner of Gregory's dying, she was deeply affected by his loss, and chilled by the solitude in which she was left. Unlovable as he was, she had loved him. She had not sought for the motives which Had prompted the old man to indulge her desires, but accepted his in- dulgence as the simple testimony of his affec- tion. She had loved him as much as it is“ pos- sible for one to love who cannot admire. And here it must be admitted that René, the heroine of this story, was below the standard of perfection. Because Gregory Biron was to others tyrannical, harsh, cruel, revengeful, mean, exacting, she did not despise him. To tell the truth, she was sufficiently tainted with the weak- ness of human nature to put a higher value on his kindness and the pride he evinced for her, because to all others he was cruel, and despised every one but her. Perhaps Una loved her lion none the less because it was savage to all but her. Gregory had refused her nothing, and for- given her waywardness readily, and she loved him as children love. Her grief in losing him was the grief of a child. She was not numbed with affliction, as she had been by the death of her father; but, for that reason, she felt her condition of solitude more. Happily the grief of children does not endure, but whilst it lasts it is poignant. Who that suffers to-day can realize that to-morrow he shall smile? To Reno it seemed that she could never again be care- less and gay. Only one room was more silent than it had been; yet had all these apartments been _tenanted with jocund life, and all been emptied, the vacancy of the big house could not have appeared more fully. René sat with her book before her, and looked at the page until the unread lines were blurred and the tears smarted upon her cheeks. She could not touch the piano, dreading melody as one dreads the pitying voice of friends who sorrow. It is the nature of morbid sickness to shun the remedy. Music or a pitying friend would have opened her wounded heart; but closing, it had healed the quicker. And yet she yearned for one sympathizing creature. She was so utterly lonely; there was no soul in the world for her to love, and not one who truly felt for her. Once she said to herself, sitting alone on her bed’s edge, “‘ Poor René— poor little René!” and, touched by the pity of own voice, she threw herself upon the pillow and burst into an agony of tears. A woman cannot be happy unless there be one to whom her sweet arms can cling, whom her fond lips may press. She is as dependent for ‘the development of her full beauty as the honeysuckle, which flowers sweetly, though it have but a rough and thorny brier to twine around, but having no support withers in stunted growth amidst the dust of its dead buds. It is true that she had no friend amongst the men and women of her acquaintance; but it is probable that had she looked for one now she ‘would not have looked in vain. Inthe presence of real grief women sink their meaner: consid- erations, and suffer the noble nature to appear; but René offered none the opportunity of mak- jog her happy. She would see no visitors. *“Tbe-women hate me, and the mtn love only themselves. I won't see them. Take their cards, and: satisfy their curiosity, if it is neces- sary,” she said to M. de Gaillefontaine. We must be blind, or we must blind ourselves * tovthe faults of those we would make our friends. René preferred to be friendless. . She was too honest to forgive insincerity, and too shrewd not to detect it. Indeed she had an unhappy knack of reading men and women's unuttered thoughts. She could see that women were jeal- ‘ous of her influence over men, and saw behind the clumsy mask of their professions. She would have linked herself to a rude brusque wo- man, but such a one she knew not. Ifthe men were more sincere, they were not less untrustworthy. ‘Their regard for her was not friendship, nor love of the kind she so de- sired. She knew she was the handsomest girl of her circle, and too certain of her superiority to be vain. It was not for her outer self she would have a friend value her, and that was all the young men suggested in their most flatter- ing moments. “One day Bess will throw me, and my face will be torn or my spine injured, and then these young gentlemen will leave me for the girl who takes my place in the field.” Even the elder men disappointed her. She had given her company to one and another again and again, listening to their dogmas eagerly, accepting their counsel hopefully; but when it came to parting, something in their glance or the touch of their hand had broken the spell, and sent her home sighing, “ All men are— men.” Closely as gratitude and constant com- munication brought her with de Gaillefontaine, she was repelled from the unconstrained inti- macy of friendship with him by the undercur- rent of his thought, which even he failed to conceal from her. Solitude is not natural to any healthy human creature, and the great quest of each is to find a fit mate. René had interested herself in dress and her personal appearance, had lent a pleased, ear to flattery, had flirted, had per- formed a thousand foolish and wise actions, without being directly conscious of the motive which impelled her. It was not until she lost her grandfather that she felt the great need of her existence, and even then she did not per- ive it to be Nature’s subtle provision for guiding her to select a husband. She fancied that a good and true woman would satisfy all her need. Her habitual tone of thought had been the reverse of sombre. ‘The foibles of men and women had been her amusement. It was not until she found herself dependent ‘upon them for sympathy that their insufficiency became a subject of grave consideration. René had a woman's discrimination, and agi ish belief that somewhere there did exist a being not mean, not hypocritical, not selfish. Naturally her mind frequently reverted to her cousin. What she knew of Hugh suggested to her mind a man having at least some of the characteristics of her ideal. He had indepen- dence of character, and that meant honesty; he was an artist, and that to her, who knew not that an artist may take a level with the me- chanic, signified that “he loved the pure and beautiful; but, more than all, he was her cou- sin, and to all women relationship is a golden link. The wish to find him grew and strength- ened. She expressed her desire to M. de Gail- lefontaine, and disturbed him greatly; but he mpathized with her fully, and loudly regretted he impossibility of knowing definitely where 3} wl he was. “ But why should it be impossible ?” asked René. ‘Surely a professional inquirer would find traces of him. He must have left friends in London. Advertisements'in the newspapers might avail “Ah, it is true! Why did I not think of that? Who shall say it is impossible until all means fail? As you tell me, there must be vari- ‘ous means of discovering him. Let me con- sider how we may best proceed in this search.” M. de Gaillefontaine pulled his moustache, knitted his brows, and closed his eyes as he turned over in his mind a few plans by which this threatened danger might be averted, and the cousins be kept apart. He was equal to the occasion; and suddenly slapping his breast, he said: “Tt has come to me, a great idea, mademoi- selle. Your cousin he is in the south of Eu- rope, we know; why should you not go there to seek him ?” René brightened, and M. de Gaillefontaine continued: The dreary months of the year fall upon this country. See, the leaves fall; the house is dull; It requires alteration. Your friends— these proud iron ones—they are not enthrall- ing—my life! far otherwise. And you would find your cousin, the fine Mr. Hugh Biron._ It is natural; it is good. If I may advise, I would say to you go to Italy.” “T will,” said René. “ Florefice, Rome—it is there you will dis- cover him. You will buy pictures for your house: purchasers have the entrée to ateliers. You will ask where is Hugh Biron, and a thou- sand voices will answer, ‘ Here!’ “You will accompany me?” “Am I not your servant?” “You are my friend; I cannot forget that. You found a father for me; you shall find a brother.” M. de Gaillefontaine bowed in silent senti- ment; but he said to himself: “Not if I can help it. Antoine will find no further relation for you, except it be a hus- band.” But his mind was not at rest. Present safety, the probability of future success, were not alone sufficient for his consideration. There were adverse possibilities in the future which were not less to be dreaded because they were un- seen; and his plans must be laid to meet the greatest ill. He thought long and deeply be- fore he lit his cigar; and then his tone of though: became more cheerful, and he hummed as he slowly walked. ‘Thought he: “ Antoine, you have overcome a present dif- ficulty: it is well. But there are others. Miss Biron does not recognize your value, my friend. Not yet. There are other young men than Hugh Biron—many. Do not forget that you are playing a dangerous game. Play boldly; and if you fail, let it be through no slip of yours, Af you fail! pst, my God! You are a gamester. Shall it trouble you if you lose one game? Oh, no; there are others.” It was arranged that René should leave Eng- land the following week, and ‘M. de Gaillefon- taine was not idle in the interim. “He busied himself in the alterations to be made in the house—drawing plans, walking about the place with architects and decorators, and explaining to them his designs. René approved the alter- ations he suggested; but he considerately men- tioned only those which would be agreeable to her in her subdued condition of mind. Such trifles as billiard-rooms, a rink, and a bijou the- atre he left as a grateful surprise to her when she should return, gay and in high spirits, to the venerated home. The. day before leaving he called formally upon René’s acquaintances; and when he was admitted beyond the hall-mat he discoursed freely on the future, “We are going to the south of Europe for the Winter.” ‘‘ /am having the old mansion entirely altered.” “Can you teil me if my old friend the Chevalier Dolceconfelli still lives at the Villa Polini? We must visit him.” “/am having a theatre designed for the new house; but not aword to anyone. Observe: Miss Biron knows nothing about it. It is a surprise for her when we return.”” Thus he bragged, but not with a boastful in- tent. His visit had the effect of entirely alter- ing popular opinion, which until then had fav- ° the report that René was de Gaillefon comicbooks.com