The Argosy — page 149: what you’re looking at

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

132 Monsieur Michaud’s Fiancée. such varying expression, that description is impossible. Looking at Georgette, one instinctively coiled up her hair over a cushion, powdered it, gave her a fichu a-la-Marie Antoinette, and fancied her going to the scaffold with raised head and half pathetic, half scornful expression. This was purely imaginative, nothing so tragical ever befell Georgette, her hair was just brushed off her delicate temples, and instead of the scaffold she merely went daily to Madame Bertine. This lady made head-dresses, and was in no way con- nected with a guillotine. Sometimes, however, the illusion might have been almost perfected, for Georgette occasionally said half aloud, as she neared the Bertine establishment, and thought of those she must associate with all day, ‘* Mais! quel supplice!” Georgette was very young for such an exclamation, but she felt she was made for better things, and that if she had only been somebody else, somewhere else, she would not have been found day after day at Madame Bertine’s. ‘This discon- tented feeling had begun years before: when Georgette was about twelve years old, her mother had taken her to a free representation at the ‘‘ Francais,” and there she had seen a little piece, entitled “On ne badine pas avec l’amour.” ‘The girl had sobbed so loud that someone had angrily said ‘‘ Hush!” ** Maman, I could do that; I could act like that, because I could feel it all real,” she said when they came out. ‘It was real, wasn’t 1 P” ‘*But no, little silly one, it was only la comédie.” Nevertheless it was real to Georgette, and from that day she knew she could act if her mother would let her. But Madame Joliet had no artistic ideas; Georgette should earn her livelihood with her needle in a respectable manner, and not go among a set of actresses whose characters were, according to madame, always doubtful. Was it likely that an honest and respectable widow should listen to her only child’s longing for the stage? That was all the history of Georgette’s life, and young as she was, and with that wonderful face, she just sighed, ‘‘ quel supplice,” when she stepped over the threshold at Madame Bertine’s. One winter’s evening Monsieur Michaud had settled himself very comfortably in his arm-chair, near his white-tiled stove ; the ‘‘ Figaro” lay on his knees, but he himself was just then meditating on his past history. Most of his friends had forgotten him, and they had never guessed that Gustave Michaud had had a history at all. After all, it was a common one—a bad-tempered father who had driven his wife into a madhouse, and had thwarted his only son’s inclination to marry 2 pretty, gentle girl for love. She never guessed that money, or rather the want of it, had made her Madame Acard instead of Madame Michaud, or that cruel fate had killed M. Michaud pére on her wedding day, making his son a man with enough money to live on, but with no interest in life. He gave up his profession, society, and Gomicbooks (e(e)