The Argosy — page 148: what you’re looking at

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

131 MONSIEUR MICHAUD’S FIANCEE. By EsME STUART. ONSIEUR MICHAUD lived in Paris. Not the Paris known to rich English and Americans who drive up the Champs Elysées and ride in the Bois de Boulogne, dine at a famous restau- rant, and take their café noir at the Palais Royal. Quite another kind of Paris, which foreigners know nothing of, and where the real heart of middle-class life palpitates and struggles, trying to work itself into a state of calm prosperity, through byeways never suspected by strangers who do not cross the Seine to plunge into a narrow street nearly parallel with the Rue du Bac. Only in Paris would there be men like Monsieur Michaud to be found. He was a bachelor, verging towards the far side of middle age, very ugly, and living alone in a small apartment in a tall, narrow house, with a spiral staircase. Madame Joliet, who lived just one stage above M. Michaud, came and attended to his ménage, and smiled as women will smile at bachelor eccentricities, chatting to him meanwhile, poor soul, about the hardship of life and the difficulty of getting enough money for herself and Georgette. Monsieur Michaud always listened good-naturedly, paid regularly for her labour, and was delighted when the door shut behind madame again, and he murmured, contentedly : * Ah, ciel! quelles sont bavardes, ces femmes. Not that her Georgette is like her in that, or I should hear her. No, Georgette is not like the other woman’s daughter below. What a chattering magpie, a brainless piece of goods se is.” It must not be thought that M. Michaud did not possess the characteristic French politeness. On the contrary, he was very polite, and to her face the “woman below” was madame ; but when alone he consoled himself with unadorned truth. Georgette worked at something: all the demoiselles in this house did, except the one who occupied the rez de chaussée, and she turned up her nose at the others as they daily descended the cork- screw staircase and hurried away to various shops, or places where francs were to be made by very patient toil. Georgette was one of these; and every morning her light step could be heard just touching each stair with the gentlest footfall, and yet with a certain decision of character. But her face had something more than character in it; it was a thin face, with large, penetrating grey eyes, which now and then seemed to’ sparkle; but only on occasions when she felt great joy or sorrow. A low, broad forehead, delicate Roman nose, and a mouth with so much and EONNIE OOO KS (E(@) m