Puck — December 5, 1877 — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

12 PUCK. “y ffiolli.” “Ah, it is an infamous falsehood—an abom- inable slander! Who is it that has told you this?” “She herself.” “Shameless, false, abandoned wretch! Is it thus she returns my many kindnesses? She knows how madly I love you, and is jealous, poor fool! She tells you this to prejudice you against me. How is it possible I could love her and see you? _Is she so truly blind to her own deformities?” “She tells me you would marry her.”” “ Alas, what can I say? Will you believe this creature, this devil, who is mad of envy, in preference to one who loves you and would sacrifice the world for your happiness ?” “Would you sacrifice her—this Beatrice Raffiolli ?” “With all my soul; oh, yes, with joy! Re- gard! She has for a long time troubled me with attentions which disgust me. I would have shaken her off, driven her away long since, but that I thought you liked the woman. Now it will be easy if you disbelieve the lies she will tell. I will speak to her no more; no, not one word. ‘he little Fiazotti sings better than she ten thousand times; to her we will give the leading réle in the future; then this Raffiolli will go away and poison herself with envy. Raffiolli! she is thirty-five, and her voice al- ready cracks. Ah, my God! to think I could love her; I, who have at least taste!” It is unfortunate for the charmer if accident brings him in contact with a snake to which his fascinations are distasteful; and this is es- pecially the case if the deluded man is uncon- scious of the mischief he is making for himself, believing that the charm he exercises is sooth- ing the irritated creature. M. de Gaillefon- taine had poured into Beatrice Raffiolli's ear the sweet love-strain intended for René, and the morc he tried to please, the more he infu- riated his pythoness. She leaned back in the rug, and seemed to lend a pleased ear to all her companion could say against her. A nod, an approving word, confirmed his error, and lel him to aggravate his mistake. Under this show of calmness the fiercest anger seethed and bubbled in the wo- man’s breast, impatient of control, and gather- ing force under the restriction. But that she thirsted for a fuller, deeper revenge, she would, despite her promise to René, have thrown off her mask, and vented her rage in such sarcasm and irony as her bitter scorn and De Gaillefon- taine’s position suggested. A dozen schemes of vengeance had entered her mind and been rejected, when this last in- sult was added. It was almost more than a mortal woman of thirty-four could. endure to be told that she was thirty-five. She winced, and bowed her head to hide the expression which she feared even her mask would not con- ceal. In the presence of a too ardent lover, maidens bow their heads; thus thought M. de Gaillefontaine, and resolved at once to press his suit to a point, everything looking so favor- able. Down he went on one knee, and took the hand of Beatrice in his. How cold it was! At that moment her ear caught the sound of a man’s voice, speaking low but near. Did this accident afford means of revenge? With a few hackneyed sentiments, De Gaillefontaine took her hand to his lips and kissed it raptu- rously. In a moment she sprang to her feet, and cried, in a loud voice, Help! help!” Before the astonished Frenchman could rise to his feet, there came one crashing through the green, walls of that arbor, scattering the tiny lamps, treading down ferns and flowers, and laid hold of him by the nape of the neck. “© That man has insulted me, monsieur! I place his punishment and my redress in your m told you have loved Beatrice Raf- hands!" cried Raffiolli, in her fierce excite- ment speaking in the dialect natural to her. It was Hugh Biron to whom she appealed. The Gascon French was as comprehensible to him as broad Scotch to a Parisian; but her meaning was fully understood. ‘There was no mistaking the denunciation and command in her voice and gesture. Hugh was a joyful ser- vant, and raising the Frenchman with cheerful alacrity, jerked him out of the door as if he had been no more than a misbehaving hound. CHAPTER XXXVI. Wuen that cry for help came, and Hugh threw himself into the shrubbery before him with the impetuosity and vigor of a bull, René felt a trembling, and it seemed as though her heart had bounded into her throat. It was not fear for Hugh, at the risk he ran by answering that appeal for help, that affected her, but a great gladness at this proof of his love for her; nor was it fear for him that filled her with anx- iety to be beside him when Raffiolli desired him to avenge her, but a proud exultation in the knowledge that he would do her bidding. She made her way as speedily as she could to the entrance of the arbor—having too great a regard for her tender flesh to follow in Hugh’s steps—with the desire to see her cousin punish De Gaillefontaine. She had no doubt of his ability; for a woman believes no_ physical achievement impossible to the man she loves. She got to the entrance as De Gaillefontaine came floundering out. Hugh turned to Raffilli, assuring her that the Frenchman should be made to apologize, and placing her under René’s protection, has- tily stepped out upon the open space to see what further attention was required by De Gaillefontaine. ‘The arbor was upon the edge of a bank slop- ing to the river, and down this De Gaillefon- taine rolled, only saving himself from the water by digging his nails into the sod. ‘The agile little man was on his feet in a minute, and his passion being roused, he sprang up the incline to Hugh, who was waiting for him, deviating from the straight line to meet him upon the level ground.. ‘he moon, shining just above the trees, and the artificial illumination were sufficient for the men to sce each other with tolerable distinctness. De Gaillefontaine made for Hugh with his foot, but his antagonist had learnt the trick in the studios, and knowing what to expect, stepped aside, caught the foot, and threw monsieur upon his back. The folly of opposing his own dapper body to this monster of bone and gristle, this barba- rous English six-foot giant, made itself evident to De Gaillefontaine as he recovered the breath bumped out of his lungs by the fall. “ Perhaps you will like to murder me,” he said, with sarcasm. “No; but I shall have to throw you in the river unless you promise to apologize to my cousin.” De Gaillefontaine, rising to his feet, at these words looked with a new interest at his adver- sary, seeing for the first time whom he had to deal with. Hugh had lost his hat, and thrown aside his cloak, in bursting through the arbor, and thus De Gaillefontaine failed to recognize him in that brief space preceding his forcible eject- ment. [To be continued] ‘Tue Philadelphia North American advertises pulp for sale, ‘The inference is that they have dealt roughly with some poet who has called to dispose of his heaven-born verses.—Oil City Derrick, Purk’s Firchanges, CLEOPATRA'S COSTUME. A POINTED crown of gold glittered on a work table in a private parlor of the Coleman House into which a reporter was ushered on sending up his card to Rose Eytinge. It served to-re- call the purpose of his visit, which had grown somewhat dim and indistinct under the greet- ing glance of the new Cleopatra’s flashing dark eyes. “Good evening, madam,” said the reporter, about to seat himself—he is somewhat short- sighted —on some needlework — Cleopatra's needlework, which the lady had evidently laid aside when she arose to receive her visitor. “Good even—not there, please. Take this seat,” said the hostess with one majestic sweep of the arm removing the reporter from his in- secure position, half standing, half sitting, and w.th the other catching up the menaced danger, which had an eye, softly bright, and was threaded. ‘There was a pause—composure on the part of the lady, a light perspiration and speechless gratitude as concerned the reporter. “Can I serve you in any way?” queried Cleopatra calmly. The reporter was about to remark that if a life of gratitude for what she had already averted, if devotion, undying, deep—but the pointed crown recalled him. “Tread in a paper,” he rémarked, “that when the dressmaker intrusted with making your costumes for Cleopatra went to see Picou’s painting, to which she was referred for sugges: tions, she came away saying that the whole matter might be more properiy referred to a jeweler. I have been sent to ask—” It might have been fancy, but the reporter thought at this moment the lady's face was convulsed with laughter. He paused. “ Pray continue,” said Cleopatra, ‘ you have been sent to ask —"”” = “Why.” “Why?” “Why; yes, m'm.” “T infer,” said the actress, “that you are not familiar with Picou’s painting of Cleopatra.” ‘The reporter confessed his ignorance, and a creepy, uncomfortable feeling came over him as the thought entered his mind that perhaps he had trodden on dangerous ground. “What—is—the costume?” he managed to say. ‘Why should a jeweler have been men- tioned in connection with the matter? Of— what—does—it—consist ?” he blurted out, get- ting warm. Cleopatra rose to her full height, and the word came from her lips with unmistakable clearness: % “A necklace.” The reporter blushingly withdrew.—/. ¥. Herald. Tue doctrine of “eternal punishment” has been referred to asa “consoling belief.” There is not so much irony in the allusion as there might be, since ‘eternal’ means without be- ginning or end, and all finite creatures are therefore exempt from it. The Springfield and other clergymen who are talking about ‘‘eter- nal” damnation would do well to go back and take a new departure from the dictionary.— Worcester Press. comichooks.c