The Argosy — page 169: what you’re looking at

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

r54 Divided. give his right hand to make you so. Why will you not help him? Try and be a little sorry for him, mignonne.” ‘For Raoul? He is happy enough, is he not ?” ‘With a wife who does not care for him—who deceives him? Ah, yes, that is what it comes to. I should not be too happy if I were Raoul. But see! You have eaten nothing. Finish your rolls and coffee. It will soon be time to start. He is waiting for you down- stairs.” “Then there is no hope, and I am really to go? Really to say good-bye to all that I care for—to you and my uncle and Paris? Oh, do not let me go. Only keep me; and I will be so good, so good,” cried Denise, throwing her arms round Madame Lenard’s plump waist, her face full of despairing entreaty. Madame Lenard would have given a good deal to have been able conscientiously to answer: ‘Stay then, and send’ your husband to Jericho.” But she realised that the position had its serious side, and stifled the desire. ‘Dear one, think what you are saying,” she replied kindly. ‘‘Re- member that you are not any longer our naughty, spoilt child; buta woman, with the power to make or mar a good man’s life—and that man your husband, whom you are bound in honour and duty to love and obey. Do not be acoward. You used never to be that. But try and have more patience, and be a little grateful for the love the poor fellow gives to you.” Denise was too well used to affection to appreciate its value; but she was touched, and the defiant eyes softened. “Bien. I will do my best; but I cannot promise to succeed, Now, kiss me, good aunt, and pray for your hopeless naughty one. There is Raoul calling. Adieu, adieu.” . Monsieur Lenard accompanied the young couple to the railway station, half angry with Raoul, half ashamed of his own share in Denise’s escapade. He kept bursting into little apologies, and lame excuses and explanations, which Raoul listened to in silence with but half-concealed contempt. What did it matter to him whether Monsieur Lenard had discouraged her or not? It was with Denise that he was concerned ; the rest of the world might go its own way. “ He has not good manners ; one might even say he did not know how to be civil,” commented Monsieur Lenard. ‘ To think that we have married my pretty Denise to such a rustic!” As the fiacre rattled over the hot white streets, past the brilliant Rue de Rivoli, where, at this hour of the morning, only busy men and women were hurrying to their business, heedless of the tempting shop-windows ; past Notre Dame, grey and warm in the sunshine; away, past all the familiar sights and sounds, Denise felt her heart grow heavier and heavier. Even the Gare, with its noise and hurry and bustle, the porters in Gomilcbooks. co