Puck — August 29, 1877 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

vo fnaves and a fjueen. AN ENGLISIL STORY. PANK BARRED ry twas begun in be obtained at the office of PU CHAPTER XXI. vg. Back Numbers can Ky 03 North William st.) DE GAULLE |, tres, tres faché! A simple accident which no one would have foreseen had in one moment turned the current of René’s life from the channel so skill- fully prepared for it, and there was uncertainty as to whether it could be turned again to its original course, or would be absorbed in. its meandering, leaving the field he wished it to irrigate barren and unfruitful. Avon Dieu, it was execrable! René had graciously forgiven him before her departure, but had declined to accept his escort. She professed not to know how long she should stay in London, nor where. no definite plan beyond. that of going at once ¢o do her * woman's work." She was unusually silent, for she had now a theme to occupy her mind, With the suspicion that haunts the guilty | mind, De Gaillefontaine conceived that René was studiously reticent concealed from him intentions fully determined. He could not disguise the trouble which dis- turbed his mind perpetually, ‘They were actors to whom he acted. “What grieves. my marquis?” vanna Roftielli. “Ts it_not sufi not here?” “Of course we are all distracted upon her account; but tell me, do we not grieve more for ourselves? What affects you? Would you keep secrets from me?” “None that would please you to hear. 1 racked with apprehensions, ‘That René Sit here; no one shall hear you.” A moment since she was in’my hand, and now I do not know even where she is. Lam in dread of what may happen. ‘There is nothing certain, She may return here no more. We may never sce her again, and all our hopes are ruined, She may become a nurse in a hospi- tal; she may go into a convent “ But you tell me she is quite good.” “Quit «Ah, then, she will not go into a religious house yet awhile, rest assured. She is a wo- man.” “ But she is English."” “Name of God, what a nation it is! I cannot say that to-morrow I shall be what I was yesterday." “ But you will be no less than you are to-day, eh?" “Ts it enough to say to a man, ¢ half way up the ladder; ‘stop there’ ?” “Be comforted, my little infant; all will come right. ‘This René is a child, ‘This wardness it is a child's. Presently you shall guide her again.” “Itis that | doubt. She is enr: for the first time in her life.” “That too is the anger of a child; it will be gone at once. She will forget like a child.” “Why does she leave me here? She refuses to let me accompany her. to stay. Regard, it you are my servant. Do.as I bid youdo. I am your employer.’ ‘The devil, I am vexed M. de Gaillefontaine did not know René; such a man, were he to live till the end of time, could not understand her. He gave her credit | only for such sentiments as he experienced, FONTAINE was “tres, asked Gio- ent cause that our queen is <d with me is as if she said: In truth she had | and that she purposely | un | She commands me | ‘Antoine, | PUCK. and ignored the presence of those he had never felt, seem extravagant that a young I and position should interest he in the fortunes of a simple dependent; ly of fortune If so keenly ut stripped of those accidental accessories, and seen simply asa tender-hearted, impulsive girl, cager with undefined yet noble aypirations, the inconsistency disappears, Untrammeled by considerations of society's opinion, or the in fluence of friends, René did at_ onee the thing which appeared to her right, She sought to be of use in the world, and sought sincerely; had she disregarded the voi that called now for help she would have been not sineer René Biron, a heroine, hut a girl of ord mould. From her hotel in London she went first to ncoln’s Inn, and thence with Mr. Gray to It was midday, and they found beside his basket-work, ia! ‘rom Reynolds. him alone standing For he had risen upon the stairs with an instinctive knowledge that she, whose visit he now desired and feared, had come. Ren his hands trembled, though he held one within | the other tightly.” He looked ill and pale. | There were care and anxiety in his face; the muscles of his mouth expressed what his eyes | could notbetray. Renésaw him through com- | passionate tears, and looking at this blind, bent man, she thought of the type of manly perfe tion and full happiness she had seen him but few months before. “You find me greatly altered,” he said tim- idly, almost ay if he had a forlorn hope that the change was not noticeable. “Of course you are different to my eyes, | | said René lightly, “and to me the change is | | But 1 am not your wife, | not for the better. you know, Had I been rescued, then every- | thing that marked your devotion for me would be a charm tenfold greater than any you had lost. And where is Mattie?” Rene’s eyes were fixed upon the face before her; and no’ sooner were her words spoken than | she saw his trouble, and wished them unsaid, “She has gone away for an hour or so," an- | swered ‘Tom quietly © "That is capital,” said René,“ for I want to talk with you alone. Can you make it | convenient to call for me in half an hour, Mr. Gray?” Mr. Gray could do anything to oblige so rare a combination as a beautiful girl anda beantiful client, and withdrew at once. ‘Yom's lingering hope in Mattie's fidelity made him repent at this moment that René had answered his cry for help. He knew that she | had come from Italy to assist him, and now he would have sent her back with her purpose un- | fulfilled if she would have gone. | And how is Matti asked René “Very well, miss. She bears up wonderful well, considering what she has to put up with.” “Why, what trouble has she ?” “Well, you see, miss, the room is dull, they tell me, and small, and these willows smell vastly unpleasant to one who's been used to the fresh air and the parlor of the Ferry-boat. You don’t know how refreshing that parlor used to smell when the gents had got hot grogs about, | and cigars and pipes a-smoking away.” “ Are these her only troubles?” “ Ah, no, miss; there’s a trouble comes afore all they—and that’s me. “You “Yes, me, miss. "Taint only my good looks I've lost—and they're wonderful pleasing to fe- males, good looks are; and it ain’t astonishin’ neither, sceing haow men, as is supposed to be the stronger vessels according to Scripture, is altogether fetched by 'em. I daresay, miss, you've found a many men as would have you ‘Yo other superficial observers it would | the sound of their footsteps | Jetected his agitation, and observed that | for your beauty alone. For I don't deny, miss, hank you, Reynolds. And what else have you lost besides good looks ?' Ive lost my life and. spirit, miss. Lord, 1 no more whistle now nor a horse; and females deu like a man that's cheery and can whistle well. Surprising how fond feinalesare of a man that can whistl I daresay you like to hear a ‘man whistle 2” # Vous.” “You sce I’m not cheerful, nor happy,” he xulped over the words, “ nor happy as I was. ‘This coming upon me sosudden makes me feel as though I'd been asleep a score of years, and woke up an old man, ‘Then Mattie, she is such achild, And it was wrong of me to insist uyon marrying her, whether she would or not. 1 ought to have waited until her mind was more settled and firmer. If she had been a widder, now, or if so be she had been old and ugly, and so out of the way of temptation, why, then she'd have been a proper match far me, and there would have been such a marriage | made in heaven.” René did not speak. . ‘here was no need to ask questions; the whole story was coming out casily enough, She held a fold of her dress between her finger and thumb, and she pinched it until she hurt herself as she thought of the | woman who gave pain to the big-hearted, gen- erous man before her. “L'm such a fool, Lam, that. go and don’t do the very thing I didn't ought not to do. | When a man sees that his wife don't care for him so much as he would have her deu, he ought to take measures for to make her love | him, not sit stupid and miserable. Crying your eyes out because you're poor don’t make you richer. I's only natural a female should like the best male she can see, and the male that | makes himself most pleasant. An. ordinary | man, if he saw his young child-wife listening to | a younger, handsomer, cleverer young mani than | himself, would set about to make himself agree- able to his wife in other ways, wouldn't he, miss?” “1 don't know,” said René truthfully, ‘Yom paused awhile. “Oh, | am so helpless!” he said "suddenly, | covering his face with his hands. That is why | have come to help you,” said René, going to his side and laying her litte hand on his arm. He rocked himself, strug- gling to check a display of his emotion. “Your wife has not left you?” said René softly. | “Oh, no, no, no! What have I said? 1 | have thought ‘of something else, and. for- gotten her. She is good to me, and tries to make ime think happily. She is sorry for what she—for what I can’t conceal. ‘The other night it is the only way I went to touch her cheek 1 can delight in her beauty now—and it was wet with tears. But she went away from me the next morning, and yesterday and to-day. *“ Where has she gone ?” ““To- to your cousin, Master Hugh.” “ Hugh Biron?” “Yes; but it is only that man. Fox who says so,” said ‘Tom rapidly. “He is a bad man, and would tell a lie willingly.” “ Does Mattie deny it?” have not told her. It seemed cruel to even think it true until it was proved, She says she goes to mind the shop of a friend—" He stopped abruptly. “And the friend 2” “Denies it; but Mattie does not know. She brings me money—I have not touched a far- thing of it; it lies up there in the corner, cov- ered with the heavy bundle of osiers.”” “Possibly she gets it by some hard duty which she thinks you might be pained to know; and Fox, who never liked you, uses his _know- ledge of her secrecy to give you unhappiness.” comicbooks.com