The Argosy — page 151: what you’re looking at

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

134 Monsieur Michaud’s Fiancée. There was no great harm in this; and M. Michaud was quite happy to let things go on in this manner; he had money, and he did not miss the little he spent on Georgette. However, one day, when spring was beginning to make Paris look beautiful, suggesting new life and new hopes, M. Michaud had a surprise. It was not an agree- able one. He often took his constitutional walk across the Tuileries, because it was a pleasant place, and it was not his fault that it was also Georgette’s shortest way home. This spring afternoon, as he sat down on a seat watching the girls skipping and the boys racing, he kept his eye also on the steps down which Georgette must come; but when he did see her, he almost started, for there was something strange in her expression. ‘Bon jour, Mdlle. Georgette ; did not you see me ?” he called out, whilst his ugly grotesque face beamed upon the girl so pleasantly that she did not notice its want of beauty. ‘* No, Monsieur,” she answered ; “ but I was thinking of you. I was wondering how I should manage to see you. May I sit down and talk to youP” “Ves, yes; tell me what you like, Georgette. Your mother P ‘Don’t mention her. Look here, M. Michaud, I can’t help it; I have tried so hard to like it—the hats and bonnets—but I can't. I must leave them, because I can do something better ; it is in me; I am sure it is. Do you understand, M. Michaud ?” | No, M. Michaud did not understand. Was the child a little off her head? “No, indeed, Mdlle. Georgette; I don’t know what you mean. Are you complaining of Madame Bertine’s bonnets? She is, I believe, as honest as other women of her occupation. ‘‘Bah!” said Georgette impatiently. ‘I beg your pardon, M. Michaud, but I know you cannot understand ; only do try to believe that it isn’t fancy. I must go on the stage; I must act; I feel it is all here,” touching her forehead. ‘It is stronger than I.” M. Michaud gave a low whistle. How was he to look after Georgette on the stage Pp—he had long ago given up going to theatres. One was stifled within them and caught cold coming out. Besides —an actress ! “Would your mother like this, Mdlle. Georgette?” The girl turned away her face and was silent ; then she seized M. Michaud’s hand. ** My mother was good, very good, but she could not understand that feeling. She was angry when I mentioned it, but she knows everything now; she knows I have tried to get over it and I can’t. You are my only friend ; help me.” It so happened that in old days M. Michaud had known a clever actor who, having made a name and a fortune, was now director of a theatre: for the sake of past friendship, he might perhaps try Georgette. But then—after that? “Tt’s a bad life, Georgette,” he said, sternly and paternally. I don’t feel that I ought to help you with this strange idea. Won't Gomicbooks.co m