The Argosy — page 89: what you’re looking at

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

70 Divided. “ Diable!” burst out the young man, glaring at him for a moment in a manner that made d’Edmond devoutly thankful that he was not alone with him at the mercy of that clumsy whip and powerful arm. ‘ Who are you, to interfere ? ” ‘Her husband!” whispered Mademoiselle Clothilde ecstatically. ‘ What a dénouement! Bourgeois from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet. Andatemper! Ah! [I would not be in her shoes for a king’s ransom.” ) Poor Mademoiselle Lenard! It was a humiliating position for her; more so than any of them could realise. She was painfully alive to mockery ; and who would not be inclined to laugh at her unwel- come husband, with his extravagant, boyish anger and farmer-like roughness of costume? How those other women would rejoice at her discomfiture ! | For a moment her face worked as though she would cry from pure distress. But second thoughts quickly banished any idea of such weakness, and, holding her head very high in the air, she extended the tips of her fingers to the new-comer, saying carelessly : “What, Raoul, is it you? You have a startling way of making your appearance. uite a fine stage effect. We thought it was the nearest cabaret let loose, until we caught sight of your figure,” and she glanced at his muddy boots; ‘‘and then we, for a moment, imagined ourselves on a tour en province, where farmers come to the theatre straight from tilling the soil. Since you are here, mon ami, welcome.” ‘“You z7// be en province this time to-morrow,” rejoined the young man hotly. ‘I have come to fetch you.” He did not take his wife’s proffered hand, and her last words only deepened the stern defiance in his boyish face. He looked like a tiger brought to bay—overcome by numbers, but determined to make a good fight, and conscious that his right as Madame de Kériadec’s husband gave him an irresistible weapon. Yet as he stood there—big, clumsy, wrathful—there was an expression in his eyes, when he looked at his wife’s pretty, rebellious face, that was not entirely anger. It was rather the passion of yearning tenderness that, being thrust back upon itself, had no other outlet for its pent-up emotion than fierce rage and bitterness. ‘The big fool loves her to distraction, in spite of it all,” Madame de Fréville whispered to de Caromont. ‘‘ And how she hates him— the ugly peasant. ‘This is a pretty finale to Mademoiselle Lenard’s triumph ; to retire to the country, as plain Madame de Kériadec, under the great thumb of a plough-boy.” But this was evidently what the ‘‘plough-boy ” intended to happen ; and, seeing that the most dignified way of ending the scene was to follow him without further remonstrance, Mademoiselle Lenard, or, more correctly, Madame de Kériadec, submitted to follow her husband out of the room, CORNIELOOMKSn(€0)