The Argosy — page 275: what you’re looking at

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

258 The Missing Rubies. Must I be deprived of the only consolation left me on earth? Think —I lead a hard life; when I come into this room I breathe a new air; I live my old happy days over again. You are changed, Casimir ; but you do not show any of the degrading signs of poverty. You are a type of the interesting exile, who would be petted and caressed in any society—whose sorrow has merely added the charm of melancholy to his handsome face. You have been well compared to Chopin—the refined, spiritual Polish gentleman, who moved in aristocratic circles and fascinated friends and foes. ‘There is a poetic aroma about your music, and all that you do and say. But I—I have none of these attractions. Banish me from this house, deny me the consolation of your presence, and what remains to me?” An intense pity filled Vordenberg’s soul, and blinded him, at that moment, to the real danger of letting his old friend run the risk of again meeting Madame Valerot. Anything was better than inflicting another wound on that poor, scarred heart. ‘Well, well, do not distress yourself,” he answered soothingly. ‘* But you must avoid her, Michael; you must never linger near her doora moment. And do not let her catch sight of your face. If she recognised you, she would leave this house at once. Moreover she might have you watched; one cannot tell what power she has. Me she never knew ; but you she saw often in the old days.” ‘Not as often as she saw poor Paul! Yes, Casimir, I will promise to be cautious. As to Wouriski, he is always on his guard. Good- night, my best friend; I can leave you now that I have unburdened my mind. I know you wish to be alone.” He left the room, gently and quietly ; and Vordenberg went back to his solitary musings. The story which Michael had just told him had awakened every sleeping memory of the past. He recalled the old days, and the old companions, whose faces were beginning to fade slowly out of his recollection. But there was one face, with clear, true eyes, and haughty features, that rose before him distinctly in the evening dusk. He remembered the open hand, the warm heart, the high courage that no trials could quell—and sighed bitterly over the cruel fate of Demetrius Lorenski. But although the face of the father came before him clearly enough, he could remember nothing of the young daughter who had found a shelter with Gradizoff. This woman who lived downstairs, might perhaps bear some resemblance to the man he had known so well in former times. If the story which Michael had related were quite true (and he was certain that his poor friend had not lied), then indeed it was well for the proud Lorenski to be in ignorance of the fate of his child. Alas! no one knew whether the Siberian exile were living or dead. If he were living he must be an old man now, It was far more probable that he had ceased to suffer years ago. COMIC OOOKS.CO©