The Argosy — page 178: what you’re looking at

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

Divided, 163 «¢ Madame, though ever welcome, is unexpected ; the covers for the salon are not yet returned from the laundress, and all things are upside-down. Madame’s bed-room, alone, is as it should be.” “Yes, yes; I quite understand,” said Denise, wearily climbing the black-oak staircase. “ That fusty old bed,” she was saying to herself; “‘ and those ter- rible drab hangings and curtains.” But at the open door of her room, she paused, with an ejaculation of pleasurable surprise. “Ah! Raoul, what is this?” Here, at least, was a transformation. Instead of the melancholy drab hangings, was a fresh, brightly coloured cretonne—the very pattern Denise had always set her heart on ; soft clusters and sprays of pink roses on a white ground, with no hard, regular lines that she could count, when lying in bed. The little sofa with its pale pink cushions, the cosy arm-chair, the toilette-table with its rose-coloured ribbons and falling laces—how pretty and dainty it all looked! The furniture was white, and everything, from the writing-table in one of the window-recesses, down to the washing-stand with its rosebud china, was as refined and pretty as woman could wish to see. Denise’s heart smote her. Raoul, when she called him, had come to her side, and was looking down at her with shy delight at her evident pleasure. ‘Was she worthy of his love?” she asked herself as she raised her grateful eyes, which remorse was making very large and soft. ‘Oh, it was good of you, mon ami,” she said; “I do not deserve it.” ** Nothing is as good as it should be, for you,” he said, pride in her beauty shining in his eyes. ‘‘ You do not half know how sweet and lovely you are, my Denise. But I knew what you wished to have done tothisroom. You used to talk about it sometimes, and I did not forget. Whilst you were away I have had an upholsterer here from Paris—and my cousin Nathalie has helped me with it all. Thanks are due to her. I, myself, do not understand much about these things. Perhaps next year we can do some other room, and so, by degrees improve the place; and then—perhaps—some day, you will not hate it all so much.” She murmured something inarticulate. She was touched almost to tears; and to hide her sudden emotion, moved hastily from him to one of the windows, so that her face was hidden. After a glance at her, he quietly left the room, and she heard the sound of his footsteps slowly and reluctantly descending the oak stairs. ‘“‘O, what a horror I am!” she exclaimed, pushing back the soft curls that clustered on her aching forehead. ‘I ought to have kissed him, and told him how good and generous I think him. Why is it that, with him, I never do the right thing, but make myself appear more cold and unamiable every day? I think he loves me too CORNICLIOO cS (SO) ' | | '