Puck — September 26, 1877 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

12 feo “feo faves and a fuesn. AN ENGLISH STORY. By FRANK BARRETT. (This Story was begun in No. ¢. Back Numbers can be obtained at the office of PUCK, 13 North William st.) CHAPTER XXV. UGH found his work more difficult even than he had anticipated. René’s face was more variable than an April sky, and corresponded with the moods of her tem- per. She generally commenced the sitting with an affectation of sensuality which Hugh disliked; but he was not proof against the sly seduction; and when she looked at him with voluptuous eyes, and her soft lips curled in in- viting smiles, the passionate blood rushed to his temples, and it was with a struggle he turned to the contemplation of work, and resisted the impulse to catch this most beautiful of crea- tures in his arms, and press her to his lips. Later she would fall into her natural habit, moved by some delicate expression of her cou- sin’s, and show a kind regard, tempered by maidenly reserve. ‘This _phase was always fol- lowed by petulant irritability and a tone of sar- casmywhich Hugh no:longer doubted to be in- tentional. Hugh worked hard at his subject, laying aside his brush grudgingly when there was no longer enough light to paint by. He found that he got on more to his satisfaction when René was absent than when she was before him. Fre- quently in the day-time he undid the work of the night before, and viewed the result with dis- satisfaction. No.definite expression was to be got from the life. Yet he had no inclination to dismiss his model, and do better work from his memory of her. His thoughts turned to her in her absence, and he found himself thinking perpetually of her, from sheer inability to di- vert his mind to other considerations. Artistic devotion to" her as a most beautiful creation was not the feeling which prevailed exclusively: her acts and words, not less than her physical beauty, were the subjects of his reflections. She astonished and perplexed him with the anomalous character she presented. He found it as difficult to determine how she felt towards him as to define her general character. Whilst he worked he was absorbed in his subject; but in the intervals of rest during her sitting he had scope for observation, and gathered sufficient material for after- contemplation. One night, upon leaving the club, he walked to his studlioy though his home lay in the opposite direction, with no other purpose than to look at the pic- ture he had left but a few hours before. He lit acandle; then he lit his pipe and turned to the easel. Yes, there was something of her there; her eyes looked out at him from the can- vas, and almost unconsciously he removed the pipe from his lips, and laid it aside in that pre- sence. He sat long before his work, regarding it with a sadness he could not explain, There was a melancholy interest about it, which in- creased as the likeness grew in beauty. Night after night he returned to indulge in the sweet sadness that contemplation of the face pro- duced. Such a feeling never possessed him when René provoked his passion. ‘Then, even whilst each fibre of his body glowed with fervid yearning towards her, his soul was overcast with regret. Her glance was suggestive of a feeling which destroyed her perfection. It was to him a hectic flush, lending a dreadful lustre. A fault in any thing of beauty would have moved him with sadness; but René’s defect he de- plored more deeply because he saw her disposi- tion was, but for that, pure and good. As his mind became more and more deeply occupied with these reflections, he perceived that his enthusiasm was less for his portrait than for the original, and that his regard for the beautiful model was no longer merely esthetic. Beyond his own unsold pictures and some casts, there were few of the adornments which distinguish the rich or the amateur artist’s stu- dio in Hugh Biron’s room. A pair of foilswere the most useless articles of the place; and they in the winter-time served the purpose of fire- irons, and had even been employed to cook achop. In the rest which broke a sitting René took up one of these, and holding it horizon- tally level with her eye, looked along its edge critically, and asked: “Do you fence?” “A little.” She had handed him the foil, and taking the other, put herself in position, and called, “En guard.” “T decline the combat,” said Hugh, laugh- ing. % Are you afraid?” “Ves. “Of yourself? I would have you a little less generous and more complimentary. Fear me, and defend yourself.” “ But I have no masks.” “*T will not touch your face.” «But yours ?” “ Again you are uncomplimentary.”” “I meant to imply that I am awkward.” “And I meant to imply that I am not.” “Tt is so uncommon for ladies to fence.” “The greater reason that I should adopt the practice. You flattered me yesterday by ac- knowledging that my tastes were exceptional. My father taught fencing.” “As well as dancing?” “ Naturally; a good dancer should be a good | fencer. I think I can dance well.” “The poetry of motion is in every step you take. I believe you could do anything you wish.” “To begin with, can 1 make you take up your guard, or not ?” Hugh saluted and “ engaged,” with dread undiminished by René’s confident assurance. “T would as soon play with a chisel on the head of a Canova,” he said to himself, think- ing how one awkward slip might bring his wea- pon in contact with the lovely form before him. He attempted nothing but defense, and did his best, knowing that her safety depended on his dexterity. Nevertheless he was worsted again and again. “This is all very well for a beginning,” said René, “ but now that you see I can fence a lit- tle, please defend yourself in real earnest. I haven’t touched a foil for six months. I shall be less maladroit when my wrist is warm.” “T have played my best.”” “ You said you could fence a little; you have done nothing yet. En guard!” René in a spirit of mischief made quick passes, delighted to observe the terror with which Hugh regarded his own point. He grew hot, he lost all presence of mind, he trembled with agitation, as he saw the heedless mirth that sparkled in her eyes. He resolved to bring the play to a close, and forgetful of all rules he dropped his foil, and brought his hand to his breast at the very moment that René thrust. Her button caught the back of his hand, and raised the skin. In a moment René had flung aside her foil. “ Oh, what a fool I am!” she cried, catching his wounded hand in hers. It was she whose face expressed anxiety now, and her anxiety imparted pleasure to Hugh. The sight of his own blood did not affect him; his eyes were upon the white fingers that trem- bled as they tenderly closed about his. She whipped : a handkerchief from her poc- ket, put it to her cheek to see if it were soft, and bound it gently round the wounded hand, saying never a word the while. Hugh was too pleased to be thus tenderly cared for to check her by aword. Her arm touched his. Her head was bent so near his, that leaning forward a few inches he might have touched her hair with his lips. Should he? Rapture quivered in his arm. René looked quickly into his face to see if he were faint. Her eyes were suffused with a tear. “Good heavens! she loves me,” thought Hugh. The occasion was not great enough for ten- derness. Had Hugh's wound been more seri- ous she would have been dry-eyed; but shesaw it was slight, and the relief from a sudden and serious apprehensive regret, and a flash of some- thing like love and pity, brought forth the ready tear. When she saw nothing of faintness in his face, but something of passionate ecstasy, she winked her eyes, and dropped them hastily, ashamed of the tear that fell. “Tt isa mere scratch,” she said, tying the ends of the handkerchief quickly; ‘and now I'll put the weapons away until you can use them without frightening your adversary out of all reason.” “I wish you had hurt me as I deserved, that I might have had a little more of the sympathy I don’t deserve,” said Hugh, He could not use a brush ;with his hand bandaged, and was idle whilst René put on her bonnet and waterproof. He was glad of the excuse which allowed him to watch her in movement. Not a motion was without grace. *«T suppose a disabled artist will not want a model,” said she. “ The patient wants a nurse. But perhaps I sha'n’t have the good fortune to be a patient | to-morrow; so you'will be required in your other capacity. I can use my fingers now quite well. Do you know, I think your cripple could shake hands—will you try him?” She gave her hand: it was the first time they had touched in that way. He would have put her fingers to his lips, but she snatched them away and left him with a laugh. He sat and gave himself up to reflection. ‘As passion cooled and thought grew calm, he felt shame. ‘The girl came to him in a profes- sional capacity, and he had no right to take ad- vantage of her position even in so slight a matter as that of attempting to kiss her hand. Had she been a visitor of his own station it would have been more excusable. He had lost his self-control, and behaved ungently in treat- ing her with less respect than he hoped she de- served. But had she not repeatedly tempted him, and was not she very, very beautiful, and was he bound to be better than ninety-nine men in a hundred? “Oh, hang it all!” he said, turning impa- tiently to his easel and taking up a brush. “The girl’s eyes tell’ me to kiss her a dozen times in the day. Why shouldn’t 1? When a man restrains his feeling towards a girl of this kind, it usually eventuates in his making | a fool of himself by offering her marriage. It’s ten to one but the girl has some idea of catching me ina trapof that kind. Heard perhaps from Mattie Reynolds that I am related to the rich folks at Riverford. Halloa, what's this?” He had been untwisting the bandage from his hand, for he could not use the brush he had taken up, and he knew his wound to be too slight to require covering, and now he was looking at the monogram elaborately worked upon the soft cambric. “ Never can make out these precious tangle- grams. Mrs. Eason uses expensive handker- chiefs! not that I ought to think of that when she gives them so readily when a fellow is in