The Argosy — page 326: what you’re looking at

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

The Curé’s Sister. | 305 “ No sister to me!” exclaimed the Curé ; “‘ Heaven forbid such a thought should enter my soul!” His earnest face, always somewhat wan, grew pale and haggard as he spoke, and he rose to leave somewhat hurriedly. “TI am sorry if I have pained you,” I said, grasping his hand. “Foreigners can scarcely understand,” he answered, ‘‘ how com- pletely a foundling becomes one of the family who adopt it. My mother and I never remember that Léonte is not of our blood.” His eyes met mine in saying this, and there was a something in them that startled me. Then, too, for the first time it struck me, what a young and handsome man he was, and his goodness, his piety, his simplicity seemed grander and more worthy of respect, being shown as they were by one, for whom life—were he any other but a priest—would be filled with the illusions and temptation of youth. When he left me, his image remained on my mind, with a curious sensation of pain around it, and I began telling myself that we were all wondrous blind to the silent battles, the untold martyrdoms, the fiery victories going on around us in the hearts of our neighbours. ye. I cAME home from fishing late, and placed my well-filled basket on the table with some triumph, but my disdainful housekeeper scarcely glanced at it. ‘“‘ Here is a letter, sir, for you,” she said, ‘“‘and a man-servant from the chateau has been waiting for an answer all the afternoon.” So her curiosity about the letter swallowed up her interest in my fishing ; and to show myself superior to so vulgar a feeling, I took the epistle with an air of supreme indifference. It was from Madame de St. Erme, asking me courteously to dine with her one day in the ensuing week. ‘Shall I accept this invitation, when I truly think the young Count a sorry scoundrel?” I said to myself. But in spite of this mental ex- postulation, I did what the rest of the world would have done. I wrote and said, I should be delighted to have the pleasure, &c—the truth is, I would not on any account have deprived Madame Rodietre of the pride she would feel in telling all the village I was going to dine at the Chateau of St. Erme. ‘*Ah, here is another letter,” she said, ‘‘but I would not give it until this important one was despatched. It is only from the Curé’s sister, wanting another English book, no doubt.” I tore open the note, and read thus: ‘I entreat you, Monsieur, to meet me this evening at the fountain in the park at St. Erme. I will be there at seven. I go to the Curd of St. Erme to-day to confess.— LEONIE.” It was past six now, so after a scanty meal I hurried away on VOL, XXXIV. X GOnlGaooks (CO) mn