The Argosy — page 152: what you’re looking at

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

Monsieur Michaud’s Fiancée. 135 you think better of it? Try dresses, my child, if bonnets are dull ; try anything rather than the theatre.” Then, shyly, the bachelor added, ‘* The life is not fitted for such as you, Georgette.” “It has temptations, I know,” said Georgette simply,” but so has any life here in Paris, and my mother brought me up to take care of myself. Ah! she was good, and if I could crush the wish I would.” Georgette got round M. Michaud of course, and when he let out that he knew M. Roche, it was all over with him. The girl calmed down when he promised to hunt out the director, and putting her small hand into his, spoke earnestly : ** How shall I ever repay your kindness?” “Tut, tut,” he answered. ‘ But tell me, Georgette, what was your father like; do you remember him?” MHe was thinking that she could not have inherited her face and her character from common- place, honest Madame Joliet. ‘My father—oh no ;.he was a painter. He died of failure. Yes, I believe failure in everything killed him.” If. **Ma foi, Michaud? No offence meant, but really I fancied you were buried years ago! It’s like seeing my grandfather walk out of his grave. As to the girl you speak of, we have a dozen every week of such prodigies; they crop up like mushrooms. I know their tale by heart now: they feel a vocation for the stage—have been compli- mented by everybody, &c. I used to believe them when I first began, but now my answer is, I am sure you would be prima donna, Mademoiselle, but we are full.” **T am really delighted to hear you say this,” said M. Michaud. “Its a bad life for a young girl like Mdlle. Georgette; no friends, you know, and nothing but this fancy.” “*Fancy—that’s it, nothing more; but look here, Michaud—— our old friendship. Take this little play, and when your genius has learnt the principal part bring her to me. There’s a rehearsal of it in a week; the actress of this part will be away, and your girl shall fill up the gap. There—now about yourself.” They plunged into old stories, but M. Michaud was not communi- cative about himself. He went away carrying Georgette’s book as if he were loaded with an evil talisman that would work only harm. “How am I to keep an eye on her if she goes there?” he thought sadly. ‘* Why did Fate throw her in my path? Sapresti!” That night Georgette, who possessed a small room of her own, “might have been heard pacing up and down like a caged animal. She learnt that little paper book through, rehearsing it till her brain felt giddy and every pulse beat furiously. What did it matter? By morn- ing she knew it perfectly, and she went off to Madame Bertine, and worked away happily, even though her eyes and head ached. Would EONNIE OOO KS (E(@) m