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1877.

FB\3

c.2_

CAMUKIU(iB:
PRHSSWORK BY JOJIN WILSON AND SON.

■if
J
1

MM zio

COI^TENTS

I.~A Wkddino-Party at Vefours

I I.-SioRro,"L.TTL<t„ii„„ "_!„„„,„, p,^„,, _
lV._«™„v „, "L,m. C„i=„...-T„. F.UK.FUK. or S..™;. 46
\. -How "Utile Chkbe-s-Stokt E.ND3 .

BOOK II.
I.— "Mv Wife's Receptiox-Dat"

TT * * * ft

il.— Real Pearl, and Imitation Pearl
III.— The Tavern or the Rue Blondel
I^' — ^^Vt Saviony

V._S,c,sMo» Pl„cs's Feabs tor ms clsH-A'ccor^

VI. — Stock-taking .

* • • • .
VII. — ^A Letter

BOOK III.

I. — The Avenger

IT. — ^Explanation .

in.— PooB Little Mademoiselle Zizi
IV.— The Waiting-Room
v.— The Seine .

. 66

101

111

128

124
141
154
160
169

4 CONTENTS.

Chapteb

Paob

I—rERPLEXimS jgj

II. — Revelations , .

* • • • • • lyy

III. — Note to meet • . , . , oii

IV.—The New Clerk of the House of Fromont . . 226

V. — A. Concert-Room ogo

•4f

-I

Paqk
191
199
211
226
2S9

SID ONIE.

SOOK I.

CHAPTER I.

A WEDDING-PAETY AT VEFOUBS. *

" Madame Chebe ! "
" My dear boy ? "
" I am so happy ! "

mm.Tv"T1^^^' '^''""'=* *™« *at day that
vyU'iam Eisler had announced his exeessivp l-a^

pmess. Always, too, in the same ^o'd" and t

he same heart-felt tone-soft and low-indioatinL

i am a happy man ! " ' ^'

For hours the poor fellow had feared that he was

"" °~^""' ^" ^^ "^en fooled by an ecstatic

8ID0NIE.

vision— but the hands of the large clock at Yefours
pointed to ten, and he had not yet been roughly
awakened. He lived over the events of the day :
he saw himself in his simple bachelor's room ; he had
just placed in the pocket of his new coat two pairs
of white gloves. A few hours later, the wedding-
procession had started. In one of the many car-
riages he beheld a shimmering cloud of silk and
tulle, that betokened the presence of the bride.
Then came the entrance into church— two-by-two —
following the floating white cloud ; the organ, the
priest, the benediction, the wax-candles, the jewels,
and the spring toilets I Then the crowd in the
vestry-room, wdiere the small, white sylph was
kissed and embraced by parents and friends, while
he himself was warmly congratulated by the first
merchants in Paris, who had assembled to do him
honor.

Then the coming out again into the common
world — the last triumphant peal of the organ swell-
ing tumultuously through the widely-opened door
of the church — the murmurs and comments of the
crowd gathered at the entrance ; even the words of
a stout woman, wearing a large white apron — words
unnoticed at the time — now returned to Risler.

" Well, the husband is not much to look at, but
the bride is a beauty ! " and the woman was right,
he thought.

Then came a breakfast at the factory, where the
huge room was gay with flowers ; the drive in the
Bois — a concession to Madame Ohebe, so true a

A WEDDING-PARTY AT VJ^FOURS.

Parisian by birth and education that she would
hardly have thought \v daugliter married without
a visit to the cascade, . A a glimpse of the lake.

Finally, the return to a grand dinner just as the
street-lamps began to twinkle along the boulevard,
lie heard again the rattle of the carriages as the
bridal procession drew up with a needless amount of
noise and bustle before the private staircase at Yi^
fours.

And now, worn out by happy excitement, Eisler
eaned back in his chair and quietly surveyed the
large table, in the form of a horseshoe, around
which were seated twenty-four familiar faces in
whose joyous eyes he read only the reflection of his
own happiness.

Dessert had been served, and the fruits, flowers,
and ices, gave color and light to the gay scene. A
buzz of conversation filled the room ; some of the
chairs were pushed slightly away from the table,
and all was going on well.

Yes Risler was content. With the exception of
his brother Frantz, every sou] for whom he cared in
the world was near him. Opposite sat Sidonie-
yesterday "Miss Sidonie," to-day his wifo and
madame." She had laid aside her veil, emerged,
as ,t were, from her white cloud, and her pre+tv
pale face, crowned by a wreath of orange-blossoms
and heavy braids of hair, rose from the severe sim-
pl.city of her eloscly-iitting robe of white silk. In
her eyes sparkled an air of latent rebellion, and
..o..«u ...X muuin ungerea an expression of discon-

BIB ON IE.

tent ; but newly-made husbands rarely read such
signs aright.

Next to Sidonie end Frantz, the person whom
liisler most loved was Madame Fromont, whom he
always called " Madame George," the wife of his
partner, and the daughter of the deceased Fromont,
his former patron, and his hero and model. He had
placed her next himself, and in his way of speaking
to her one read at once the deference and tendei-ness
with which he regarded her. She was a very youno-
woman, about Sidonie's age, but of a better style of
beauty, more quiet, more refined. She talked very
littje, feeling s6mev> hat out of place in this mixed
circle, though she was perfectly amiable, and well
bred in her manner.

On Risler's other side sat Madame Chebe, the
bride s mother, who was dazzling to behold, in a
robe of glossy green satin. All that day the ffood
woman's thoughts had been as brilliant as her dress
and she had said to herself a hundred times, " My
daughter marries Fromont and Risler." For to h r
mind it was not Risler alone whom her daughter
married, it was the firm itself, so famous in Paris •
and, each time that Madame Ch^be arrived a this
conclusion, .he drew herself up so erect that the
Bilk of her waist creaked like the harness of a war-
horse.

^ ,^f .^^^^"trast to her husband, who sat farther
ott ! ihis little man, with his glossy bald head, as
round and as empty as a tenpin-ball, looked s furi-
ously indignant as his wife was radiant ; this, to be

A WEDDINO-PARTY AT VAPOURS.

sure, was but bis usual expression. This evenino-
be was not so shabby as was bis custom, and bil
new black coat was a proper pendant to his wife's
green satin ; but, unfortunately, his thoughts were
as sombre as his coat. " Why had he not been put
next the bride, as was his right ? Why had tliat
plac^ been given to young Froniont ? And why did
old Gardmois, the Fromonts' grandfather, sit on the
other side of Sidonie ? Of course, every considera-
tion must be paid tc the Fromonts and none to the
Ohebes, and yet such people had the face to wonder
at revolutions ! "

• Portunately, as a safety-valve for his indignation,
the irate httle man had next him his friend Dolo-
beile, a superannuated actor, who listened to his
complaints with a majestic and unmoved counte-
nance. _ A man may have been driven from the sta^e
y *'if ^""^ "^*'°ations of managers, kept from
It for fifteen years, and yet have in reserve manv
impressive attitudes and magnificent poses. So on
this especial evening Dolobelle felt that much was
expected of him, and he had adopted a half-smilino-
half-serious air, at once condescending and solemn!
One would have imagined him at a feast in the
first act of a new play, assisting at a banquet where
all *e meats were of pasteboard. In fact, this
absurd Dolobelle had precisely the air of plav^ng a
part, feigning to listen to what was said, but reflly
meditating only on his reply.

Singukrly enough, the bride, too, had a little of
tHe same expression. On her vm,n^ op^ „»„*,,. ^.

cuue

SIDONIE.

was to be detected a certain preocci^on .r,,!
-na„, a fai.t smile, as if ^.:S^S:^

Plied toT "''.' ""'^ ""^ ^«'"' """« «-t 1:^^

£r G^rSr* r™«"'='' -■■"■-■«- of Grandfa-
tlier Winois, who was seated on her right.

m.n -ir^u '^"''*'' *'"'" '"°"*''«'" continued the ^rood
inan with a boisterous laugh, « since this h-ttle mTnx

moni T r' ^""^'^'^ '^ ""''■■"^ -"to •'' "«nnery-a
monastery, I fancy, would have suited her better!"

Every one applauded this poor joke of the
old peasant, whose colossal wealth, as well as na
tive s,ewdness, inspired respect, imong he few
he fanced was "little Chebe," as he called her-ll
had known her from infancy, and understood hr
thoroughly, while she in her turn was too recentlv
endowed with wealth not to venerate rTches and
t eated h™ always with an odd mixture of vene^
tion and coquetry. venera^

To George Fi'omont, who sat on her left how
ever, her manner was very reserved. TWr con

setm dlir '^^i^' '"^ -«'>-»- of civiliti,rd
seemed hke an affectation of indifference S„T
denly came the flutter and rustle of ^.s the hi"
sdence and the general indication, of rising from

country, who was in ^Z!^;, ^Z^ Z

standing leanmg on the arm of M. Gardinois.

1 te 1 you, cousin," exclaimed the proud mother
no one aas ever yet been able to read'the thought^

A WEDDim-PARTr AT VgPOURS.

or feelings of my Sidonie ! " Then the gii^^^T^
inuoh laughter passed into tlio grand sahm.

While the guests, who wore invited only to tho
ball which was to crown the festivities, wer'e asseni-
bhng, and the orchestra were tuning their instru-
ments, while the youths hovering in the doorway
were mentally deciding with whom to dance, Kisler
took refuge in a smaller, darker, and cooler room
commun.cating with the salon. Sigisn.ond Tlanus,'
h.s old fnend, and the cashier for thirty years of the
Mercantile house of Fremont, joined him. Thev
were alone, and could say a few words in comfort.
Sigismond, old boy! I am perfectly happy 1 »
Sigismond wished to express his delight but
Bisler gave him no opportunity of doing so. All
the joy in the good man's heart bubbled to the snr-
taoe, and he continued :

"Just think of it, Sigismond ! Is it not aston-

i 1 r t' r''' ^'°""S ^''-^ '''^■'^ t'''-^* «°"W ••'c-

cept me? I know quite well that I am old and
"gly, for I am forty-four. Many another she might
h ve marriec^ without counting Frantz, who ^u
W worshiped her. But no-she wanted old
Kisler, and she has got him.

''It all came about, too, in such an extraordinary
fashion. For some time I had fancied her sad Z
on of spnus. I feared lest some unfortunate love-
affair caused this state of things. In vain did her
motherand I talk it over together. We could Ink
of no one whom she could possibly care a sou for.
J- i,.a.y , Cue moraiug, m came Madame Chdbe, all in

i \

SIDONIE.

tears, to my office. 'It is you WilHom „,T. y.
loves ! ' she cried And 1 if f' ''°™ *®

tliif m„ /• ,, , , ^° " ""^s- Just think of
t ut, my fnendl And who ever Ixeard of a man
u>v,ng two such strokes of good h.ck, followU so
c^ose on one another, as I have had ia ZllT^
To be admitted into the house of Fromont as ful

a>fM~:nrha3::is;tn:^^rrd
.epirtsSsTr-^^^^^^^^

smiltog." '"''"'" ''^^^^'i Sidomo, fiercely, but still
" I swear it is true ! " answered the youn- man

iiij ? '^ ^'°""' '""^ ^""^ ^^'^ S°»«- How could I

mira'tir '"fll"'' ""''''' '^^''^ -* the pair in ad-
dan ttethe/p^ E t "; '''*" "^" ^''^
P;„i "f®"^"®"^- -"^"t) as the two caught siffht of
lusler hey separated, and Sidonie went difecthr
toward her husband. ""ectly

for Z" m ^ " *' '"''• " ^^^-7 one is looking
lor you. Why are you not in the ballroom?" and

Kist ,''-f.' ''" .^''^'"^ '^'''"^ ^^ cravat, while
Kisler smiled out of the corner of his eves at 8i«. f

mond, and was too delighted with tKtle h^d

± "'^O-Df^o-PAnrr at vHfovrs.

^ 13

made his badly-out b dlvfin '^' ""'"'^ "''"■"

more awkward^ hnt ^ j^f "'"« ^«-'" «PPear still

like the klot of a LvT „d '7' '° ""''' ''^'-
accept hi™ as he ^"e:l:\::ir'T .'''
moment of gratified vanity aTshe to^-e. t^r ', '
and to the left on their p'assage up : Vo^m" T
fortunately, it soon came to an end for "Hi.

2 >"' «.i. w, ... 'ulJ:s~r':

Jiut, my good friend," interruntp^ M„ i
George, " Sidonie and I are intim Seadv C '
have eve^ reason to love each othe. " 1^,. Z'

ot^L'X^^-'-'^^^^-^i-^hostiht

thepfctiS^ral^^^^^^^
contmued, in the same tone • « T.lZ.r ', '^®'"
Httle one; there is but one Malme'ce " '^ 'f'
™ <.ae . just like her father, a true Frfmont I »

8ID0NIE.

Sidonie, with her eyes cast down, bowed with-
out reply; but a slight shiver ran from the tip of
her satin shoe to the smallest bud on her wreath of
orange-blossoms. Uut the good Ilisler saw nothing.
The ball, the music, the lights, and the flowers,
had intoxicated him ; he thouglit every one as happy
as himself, and knew and susj^ected nothing of all
the rivalries and small hatreds tliat went on about
him. He did not see DolobelJe, with his elbow on
the chimney-i^iece, one hand on his hip holding his
hat, waiting for the time to come to utilize his
especial talents ; nor did he notice M. Oh^be lean-
ing against a pillar of the door, more furious than
ever against the Fromonts.

" Oh, these Fromonts I Why should they occupy
Buch a conspicuous position at this wedding"? What
had they to do with it ?-and he, the father of the
bride, had not even been presented to Madame
George!"— and the little man cast enraged glances
at his wife, who sat smiling in supreme content.
^ At this wedding, as at almost all others, the dis-
tinct circles jostled each other, but did not harmon-
ize. Finally, one gave way to the other. " Those
Fromonts," who so irritated M. Ch^be, and who
formed the aristocracy of the ball, the president of
the Chamber of Commerce, a distinguished solicitor,
and the old millionaire Gardinois, all retired about
midnight, quickly followed by M. and Madame
George Fremont. Then the bride, with her mother
and Risler, slipped away, leaving M. Chebe, who
had recovered his spirits, to do the honors.

•>

f
^i

A WhDDiifa-pARry at r£roujis.

Througli the deserted streets the bridal ou-ria.re
rolled heavily toward tlie new home. Madame
Chebe talked i.u.ch, en.uuerating all the splendors
of this ■neniorable day, dwelling especially on the
dinner, the com.nonplace carte of which had been
to her the epitome of luxury. Sidonio was half
asleep in the corner of the carriage; and if Risler,
opposite did not say, "I am happy," it was because
his heart_ was too full to speak. Once he attempted
to take m his the little white hand that rested on
the window, but it was quickly withdrawn, and he
sat lost m silent adoration. Once the carriage
stopped to drop Madame Oliebe at her own door
too narrow for the yoluminous flounces of her magi
nihcent dress. A few minutes later the coach drew
xip before the massive gates of an old hotel in La
Kue des Vielles Ilaudriettes, bearing, above the

letters of gold and blue, were to be read the words,
"Wall-Papees, at Wholesale only."

The bride leaned forward. Had not all the
lights been extinguished in the enormous building
surrounding the court, Risler would have seen he
smile of tnumph that irradiated the pretty, enin-
matieal, contradictoiy face. '=

The noise of the wheels was deadened bv the

hotel'oTtto^'r- "''T "'"^^ ''' '« *he smal
fln! r*T, '*"■"''• ^' ""^^ t^*"-"' o'^ the lower
floor, hat George Fremont lived, and the RisleL

were to nonnn^r fl.^ o^^^^j mi , . -Li-JoieiH

Ij v^.. =.v.uxiu. xne House, simple as

mDONIE.

I HI I

it was, 'irtd yet Ui -> . of luxury that niglit, lent by
the magntH<'4)nt liow\ -b and slirubs that lined the
Lall nnd sfaircasc.

While Ki§]or surveyed his new home in Bupremo
content, {^iitti'onie retreated to ]ier boudoir. l>y the
light of tho i'o«' "olorod chandelier r^^e first care-
fully surveyed herbvjlf in the long mirror, and then
calmly turned to examine in a leisurely fashion
each detail of this, to her, unwonted luxury. This
examination over, she threw open a \vindow and
stepped out on a balcony. The night was clear
and mild. By the waning light of the moon she
saw the whole of the manufactory, with its thou-
sand windows and numerous chinmeys.

At her feet lay the small but exquisitely-kept
px&^. All around were black and narrow streets.
Suddenly she started. Below, off toward the left,
in one of the most wretched of all the crowded at-
tics, she saw a window in the fifth storv thrown
widely open. She knew it instantly — it was the
staircase window of the floor which her parents
inhabited. How well she knew it I How many
things the sight of it recalled I How many hours
— how many lays indeed — had she passed there,
leaning from this window without a railing or a
balcony, looking toward , the manufar>tory 1 She
fancied she could at that distance detect "little
Chebe's " small head, set in the frame of the win-
dow ; and all hor past life seemed to unfold before
her — ^her childho ^ ^nnd^ worse than all, the sad
youth of a poor gi,j l ih( jity of Paris,

lent by
ned tlio

5upremo
IJy the
rst ca re-
nd then
fashion
'. This
ow and
as clear
)on she
bs thou-

cly-kept
streets,
the left,
^ded at-
thrown
was the
parents

V many

Y hours
1 there,
ig or a
^I She

" little
he win-
l before
the sad

CHAPTER 11.

STORT OF "in ITT!' miVJ^nr,"

iniLE CIIEBE "—THREE FAMILIES ON A

FLOOB.

apartment Thp 'f .5f ^^'^^^ ^'Y tlicm as another
Oh^i: ^"^ y ^ ^^'^ "^^" «"io^^'e. When ^Mlffl^

i^ / * ine child obeyed her ffladlv

part of tZo^jT'T! 'Z' 'T' '°™'"^ "°

roofs and chimneys and n r!I ^ ^^"^ ^^^^^^

la^ cool and fresh among the duln .,""'"'
superannuated bnildin<.s "^ "^^"^ ""''

i....n.o luomQ^ which were

always gloomy and

in I

^ij

SID OKIE.

sunless, and wellnigli intolerable when it rained,
and lier father could not go out.

Ferdinand Chebe was indolent, and always form-
ing plans to make a magnificent fortune. At Urst
he had imposed on his wife, but after repeated dis-
ai-)pointments she learned to estimate him at his real
value, and refused to attach any importance to his
wild dreams. Of the comfortable little dowry,
brought by her and wasted by him in foolish specu-
lations, there remained but a mere pittance: a
camel's-hair. shawl, sacred to great occasions; the
laces she wore on her marriage-day ; and two dia-
mond buttons, small enough, certainly, but still so
brilliant that Sidonie often implored her mother to
open the white-velvet case in which they had lain
for thii'ty years or more.

M. Chebe had been years seeking some active
employment— his health, as he affirmed, not allow-
ing him to lead a sedentary life. It must be ac-
knowledged that in the early days of his married
life, when his business was prosperous and money
was plentiful, when he kept his horse and his
groom, he was thrown from a carriage and se-
verely injured. This accident had served ever
since as an excuse for all liis indolence. One was
never five minutes with M. Chebe that he did not
say in a confidential tone, " You remember the ac-
cident that happened to the Due d'Orleans?" and he
added, invariably tapping his own bald head, " Pre-
cisely the same thing liapi)ened to me, my friend-
precisely the same thing!"

STORY OF -LITTLE CUkBEy

street was being laid out he fcH ^f ^ "''"'

as she ironed the house-linen "V T '''^'
day in the sire 1, ?"' """^ P'^^^'' ''^^ «'«

fofhead^rr'e^rrfhiVotri^n^^^^^

cakes under his arm f^>. i • T f ^^ *^^® ^^^
pennies and ttit^::f''^«^«'^^P-t a few

es% rs r h: Tuf ir^'^ ^"^ ^-

The poor wo„.a„ made no l"e th^r /T ?
so thoroughly understood the art ofl ' * t^

o.dwt..eshre;'3:,;s^^^^^^^^^

..„ Opposite the Chebe door were too !'ln

^" me tot, a card, fastened

by four small nails,

SID NIB.

bore the name of " Kisler, Designer of Patterns for
Manufacturers," and on the other was a small sign,
with this inscription in gilt letters :

"MADAME DOLOBELLE.

BEETLES AND HUMMING-BIRDS.

>»

The Dolobelles' door was always wide open, and
showed a large square room, where two women —
mother and daughter, the latter ahnost a child — la-
bored assiduously at one of the thousand small in-
dustries by which Paris supplies the civilized world
with articles of taste.

At that time it was the fashion to ornament hats
and ball-dresses with those brilliant beetles from
South America, and with those dainty birds whose
breasts glitter as if set closely with rubies and em-
eralds. This was Madame Dolobelle's specialty.

A wholesale house, to whom the goods were con-
signed from the Antilles, sent them at once on their
arrival to Madame Dolobelle. When the cover was
lifted, a dull, dead odor, and a fine arsenical dust,
filled the room. The beetles were piled one upon
another ; the birds were closely packed, each with
its wings stretched on a bit of stiff paper. All these
were to be mounted — each beetle must tremble on
a bit of wire ; the ruffled plumage of the humming-
birds was to be smoothed, and two pearl beads in-
serted instead of the eyes that were no longer there ;
and each tiny creature must be made to assume a
life-like position. The mother did her work under

STORY OF '^ LITTLE CHp.BB."

her daughter's direction ; i<^^W^I^lI~^^^^^^~^^^
young, bad such exquisite taste, sueli originalltj of
mve,^:on, that no one could arrange the bWs as slie

acciS,rtlr>,'7-'"''"''^' '" '^^"^^^"^"ee of an

of hertfi 1 . '"r>"° ™^ ^''''''''^ "'« beauty
of her refined face, Desiree had acquired, in conse-

b," d " H '" rf "-^^ ™-obility,\ cert'ain h^-

that the natural beanty of her wliite hands was un-
injured Iler beautiful hair was always caTefunJ

arm-chair, before a table that was covered with
faslnon-plates and birds of all tints, finding sime
compensation in the elegance of her en^lfy" „
f.;-- the poverty and anxiety of her life

She knew that all these little wings would -Ht
er at Parisian /^to, and, by the fashion In whi t
she would arrange her birds and her beetles ilwa^
easy to divine her thoughts. On her sad S tZ
days the wmgs were widely spread, as if eaglr fbr
cre^l^;?; r' f-ious enough to bear th? lit&
creature far away from this poor abode, and petty

ha;;?':hVr'%,^* °""^ ''™^^' -•>- ^^--^

happy, the tiny things themselves looked radiant
hke a very caprice of fashion. '

Happy or unhappy, D&ir^e toiled on with un-
flagging energy ; from sunrise until far fnto tb«
n.ght the table was piled with work. W rday

cism.=o.., ouudame Dolobelle lighted her lamp,

-fTT"

SID ON IE.

and, after a light repast, the two resumed their
labors.

The indefatigable women had but one aim — one
fixed idea in life^and this was the dramatic success
of Dolobelle,

From the unfortunate day that he had left a pro-
vincial theatre, to play comedy in Paris, Dolobelle
had expected some manager, cleverer and less igno-
rant than others, to discover his genius and offer
him a position worthy of his talents. Perhaps, in
the beginning, Dolobelle might have found some
employment in a third-rate theatre, but to such an
idea he would not condescend to listen. He pre-
ferred, he said, " to wait, and to struggle ! " And
shall WG show our readers how he struggled ?

He passed his mornings in his chamber— often
in his bed— rehearsing his former Toles^ and his wife
and daughter shudderod with terror, as they heard
some tragic speech loudly declaimed. After a late
breakfast the actor sallied forth, well brushed and
perfumed, and wandered up and down the boule-
vards until night, his hat a little on one side, and a
toothpick between his lips.

The matter of costume he regarded as of the hio<h-
est importance. What manager, he asked, would
engage him were he shabbily dressed and unshaven ?

So his womenkind watched carefully that he
lacked nothing, and you may imagine how many
beetles and humming-birds they mounted daily to
keep him in this resplendent condition.

But the comedian thought it all right. In his

■4

STORY OF '' LITTLE CHEBEr

led their

im — one
c success

sft a pro-
)olobelle
ess igno-
nd offer
fhaps, in
id some
such an
He pre-
" And
?

r — often
his wife
7 heard
r a late
led and
3 boule-
e, and a

be high-
, would
shaven ?
that he
7 many
iailj to

In his

opinion the privations and toil of his wife and
daughter were so many sacrifices, not made for him,
but laid on the altar of the unknown divinity, the
coining manager.

Between the Dolobelle houseliold and the Chebe
there was a certain similarity of position, but it was
brighter and gayer with the Dolobelles, for their
hopes and faith opened to them a possible future,
while the Cliebes knew that for them there could be
no amelioration of their lot ; then, Madame Chebe
no longer believed in her husband, while her neigh-
bor had never djubted hers.

And yet for years and years Dolobelle had in-
terviewed all the dramatists of the great city, had
waited on one manager after another, but had never
succeeded in obtaining an engagement. A friend
had succeeded in procuring his appointment as stew-
ard of a fashionable club, where good manners were
an essential— and Heaven knows the actor had those
—but all such propositions Dolobelle received with
an heroic denial.

^ " I have no right to bid farewell to the theatre "
said the great man. '

From the lips of this poor fellow, whose feet had
not trod the boards for many a long year, such words
were irresistibly comic ; but, after a glance at the
pale wife and paler daughter, one lost all desire to
smile ; and to hear one or the other sav, as thev
twisted the steel wire of their birds, " [^To, no, M
Dolobelle has no right to relinquish the theatre »*
in,.,^,^ ttr iHiiig iciirs Lu uiie 8 eyes.

24:

SID ONI E.

... .-jj

•1*'

Happy man ! idolized in his own home, saluted
respectfully by the neighbors when he appeared in
the street, for Parisians have an extraordinary pre-
dilection for the theatre, and a great regard for any
one, however remotely, connected with it. And yet
this great man contentedly went every Saturday
evening to a milliner in La Kue Saint-Denis, a huge
paper box under his arm, to carry home the work of
his wife and daughter.

Even in executing this commission his manners
and costume were so irreproachable that the yoimg
lady who- duty it was to receive him found it ex-
tremely embarrassing to hand him the week's wages
so laboriously earned and so small in amount. '

On these evenings the actor did not dine at
home ; the ladies never looked for him ; his excuse
was always ready : he had met an old friend and
mvited him to dinner. He brought home the re-
mamder of the money, to be sure, and sometimes a
bouquet to D^sir^e, or a little gift to his wife "A
mere nothing," he said, loftily. Thus you under-
stand how, notwithstanding the industry and the
courage of these two women, and the fact that,
though their labors were comparatively luerative,'
they were often cramped for money, particularly at
certain seasons of the year, when the gay world had
left Paris, and their particular branch of industry
languished. "^

Fortunately, Risler was near at hand, and always
ready to serve his friends.

WiUiam Risler, the third tenant on that floor.

STORY OF "LITTLE CHi:ilE."

re8Wedtherowithi;is;;~^;:^^

When William first arrived in Pftrit , .
and ignorant of the ways of o^ip^ f ' f/ '"'^'"■'
himself of the kinH IT V * ' '"* ^'""^'^ «^^"ed
K„ I,- "^ °^''™ "^ assistance made to him

one famij^' * ^'^ '"'^""'^ 'W -" became as

table. Eisler's JwT ? "^"^"^^ ^''''^'^'' ^nd

a^ he did o mpo'S^ a lit • •^'' ^ ^-^^P^^^^
tablishment of K morthaVh *' ""'"'^ ^"
bestow on the Dnfl. n ' *'" ^® '^^^ ''"abled to
and to enter the ri°K "'"^ *""^'We benefits,

This iS'm:^t:::2zi^i:f ""^^ ^^'^•

Ch^be or Dolobelle t^o Y ^ ''* '^''°* '^i*

them with bet'ati .I'r::;'^' -''.- ^ -^^'ad

X^rfi^.^'^la "—J

--- vtj\,xa

pipe, and stale Pretzel

«- oeer were his only vice, and his

SI DON IE.

greatest enjoyment was to sit between his two
friends, joining in the conversation only with an
occasional laugh or a nod of the head. Naturally
timid and unable to express himself fluently, and
conscious of certain provincialisms that clung to him
still, he shrank from ne'v acquaintances. His old
friends absorbecf him, while at the same time im-
pressing upon him their immense superiority. Ac-
cording to M. Chebe, no man who worked ten hours
each day could by any possibility have at the end of
that time any opinion worth offering to any oi.e on
any subject.

Sometimes the designer came in overwhelmed
with care, meaning after an hour's repose to return
to the factory and work all night. M. Chebe's air
of surprised contempt was an absolute study.

" I can't imagine a man of sense guilty of such
folly," he would say.

Dolobelle was less fierce, but his supercilious
condescension was equally amusing. Eisler was
thoroughly convinced of his own inferiority, and
gently sought to induce his friends to pardon and
overlook it by thoughtful attentions and kindnesses.

In each one of these three humble homes Sido-
nie Chebe was always welcome and equally at ease.
At any hour of the day she would rush into the
Dolobelles' room, perch herself on the arm of Desi-
r6e's chair, and watch the rapid movements of the
pale girl's fingers. When tired of this, the child
would pounce on some discarded beetle, one which
had lost a wing on its long voyage, or a humming-

STORY OF "LITTLE CH^BE."

bird whose feathers were hopelessly damaged ; such
being always presei-ved for her use. Already more
coquettish than playful, the little girl would arrano-e
them in her clustering curls, while D&ir6e and her
mother smiled to see her star.ding on tiptoe before
the old tanushed mirror. When she had studied
herself suffic.enlly, Sidonie, craving more ad.nira-
tion would gravely go and knock at the Kislers' door
■ During the day only Frantz was there, busy over
his books at his table by the window. Sidonie,
holding her head very stifHy, lest her tiara should
be disarranged, appeared on the threshold. Fare-
well to study I Everything must be abandoned to
do honor to this princess from fairy-land, who came,
crowned with shining jewels, to pay him a visit.
It was droll enough to see this tall, overgrown
youth absorbed by this eight-year-old girl, yielding
to her caprices and whims ; so that later, when he
became madly in love with her, no one could fix the
date when his passion began.

Petted as she was in these different rooms, there
was yet many an hour when Sidonie gladly took
refuge m the large window on the staircase. It was
there that she found her greatest amusement; there
tnat she contemplated a vague future

The child watched the glittering windows of the
hnge factory-buildings, and the heavy smoke that at
certain hours rolled from the chimney, and envel-
oped the gray walls only added the additional charm
of mystery. The Fremont manufactory represented
a_ „.„^,- ^, iUAury ana wealth, while the

SIB ON IE.

I 'I

Bwaying tops of the trees in the garden seemed to
beckon her to the promised land, the country of her
dreams.

She listened with intense interest to all that
Eisler would tell her— of his master, of his kind-
nesE, and his success in his business — and she watched
with childish curiosity every detail of M. Fromont's
home-life. The marble steps to the garden, the
gilded aviary, the perfectly-appointed cou2^e in the
courtyard, all were constant objects of her admi-
ration. She knew the daily habits of the house-
hold ; th6 hours for the dismissal of the workmen ;
the pay-day, when the cashier's lamp burned far
into the evening ; and Sundays, when the profound
silence about the courtyard brought nearer the voices
of Mademoiselle Claire and her cousin George, as
they played together in the garden. From Risler
she had acquired much information. "Show me
the drawing-room windows," she said ; " and now,
which is Claire's sleeping-room ? "

And Eisler, charmed with this sympathetic in-
fatuation for his dear maYiufactory, explained over
and over again to the child the arrangement of the
buildings, the position of the different work-rooms,
and showed her the especial corner where his own
office was situated.

Finally, one day, Sidonie penetrated to this para-
dise.

Madame Fromont, to whom Risler had often
spoken of the intelligence and sweetness of his little
neighbor, begged him to bring her there, on the

STORY OF ^^ LITTLE CIIEBEr

jeemed to
try of her

> all that
his kind-
e watched
Fremont's
rden, the
ve in the
ler admi-
be house-
i^orkmen ;
irned far
profound
the voices
reorge, as
m Risler
5how me
md now,

thetic in-
ned over
Qt of the
'k-rooms,
his own

:his

para-

ad often
his little
), on the

occasion of a chiUren's balTtliat sbc ^i^^Z^„

for Cliristmas-week. ^ ^

At first M. C1.6be gave a curt refu,^l. "He

t^.c e Fromonts, wbose name was never out of
R.sler s mouth. Besides, it was a fancy-dress ball
and he, unfortunately, did not sell wall-papers, and
consequently could not aftbrd to dress hi daughter

pro,„i r: , ,''"' ^''r "^^^^"^ ^-^ •'"'■•etted,
promismg to take everything upon himself, and a

once proceeded to design a costume.

It was a memorable evening

In Madame Chdbe's apartment D&irde Dolo
belle pres,ded over Sidonie's toilet. The room wt

of cotton lay on the table. The little girl, in her
short skirt of red flaI.Hel striped with Walk stonH
grave and e.ct before the mi.^or. She w^'it
mg The bodice laced with black velvet over a

Mir fell from a broad-brimmed straw-hat Thn
reTn'f K "f "''"•^ ''^'^"^ °' Sidonie's cistume w^Je
win y *' '^^"'^'^ '"'<'"«<'°' fe«« and by W

b^lSs :k a?mir2 "^ ^^^^^^

herself to t n • '.^''°" '" '^' *^«^' ^"^ ^e^med

tainmen wl -tT'^u '* *' *'^°"g'^' "^ an enter-
tamment which she should never see. The creat

man appeared. He made Sidonie repeat the^

loundeonrtfifiTrTiriii^i, i.^ T-_ 1 , , . ^ "^*^ V^^-

^, .^..^ ..,; Hau taugiit iier, and showed

8ID0NIE,

her how to enter a room, and to pay lier respects to
lier hostess. It was trnly droll to see the accuracy
with which the child obeyed these instructions.
"She has the blood of an actress in her veins!"
cried the old actor, enthusiastically; and, without
knowing why, that great blockhead of a Frantz
felt ready to cry.

A year after this happy evening, had any one
asked Sidonie what flowers decorated the rooms,
the color of the furniture, the name of the waltz
that she heard as she entered the house, she could
have answered in turn each question correctly.
She forgot nothing, not one of the costumes that
whirled past her ; she still heard the childish laugh-
ter, and the sound of the little feet on the waxed
floor.

For a moment, as she sat on the red-satin sofa,
and took an ice from the tray which an attentive
servant held before her, she thought of the dark
staircase, the small, ill-ventilated home of her
parents, and it all seemed to her like a distant
country left behind forever.

Every one thought her charming, and petted and
caressed her.

Claire Fromont, a small marquise, in pink and
blue, presented her cousin George, a magnificent
hussar, who turned around every minute or two to
see the effect of his sabretache.

" You understand, George, she is my friend ; she
is coming to play with us on Saturday. Mamma has
invited her."

STO/iY OF ''LITTLE CIlkliKy

And in tlie joy of lior hapi)y little heart Cluiro
embraced Sidonie with velieiueiiee.

Nevertheless, the lionr caine to leave. Through
the dark street— where the snow was silently falling
--lip the narrow staircase, and in the dull room
where her mother sat .vaiting, the child still beheld
the glittering lights ufthe ballroom.

"Was it beautiful? did you enjoy it?" ques-
tioned her mother, as she unfastened the brilliant
costume.

And Sidonie, overwhelmed with fatigue, slept
as she stood, and began an alluring dream then and
there that lasted all through the da>« of her youth
and cost her many bitter tears. '

Claire Fremont kept her word: Sidonie went
often to play with her in that lovely garden, and
examined at her ease the gilded aviary. She knew
each corner of the huge factory, and played there
many a game of hide-and-go-seek on a quiet Sunday
afternoon. ''

Everybody loved her without her ever evincing
much affection for any one. As long as she was in the
midst of this luxury she was gentle and happy; but
at home again with her parents, looking at the outer
walls of the manufactory through the cloudy win-
dow on the corridor, she felt a pang of inexplicable
anger. ^

Sometimes she drove to the Bois in that beauti-
tul coupe, and occasionally she was invited for a
week to the country-house of Claire's grandfather.

Thanks to Eisler, «

, WHO was very proud of the girl's

SIDONIE.

success, she was always well dressed. Madame
Chebe spared no pains, and D6sir^e was always
ready to employ in her little friend's service her own
marvelous taste and ingenuity.

M. Chebe, always hostile to the Fromonts, con-
templated with contempt this increasing intimacy.
The truth was, that he was never asked himself; but
this reason he naturally never gave, and only said to
his wife :

" Can't you see that the girl is always sad when
she returns home, and that she passes hour after hour
m idleness, looking out of the window ? "

But poor Madame Cli^be, so unfortunate in her
marriage, had become improvident. She maintained
that one must enjoy the present • seize happiness as
It passes, since often one has in .fe, for support and
consolation, nothing but the remembrance of a happv
childhood. "^

For once M. Ch^be was right.

I. Madame

was always

vice her own

omonts, con-
ig intimacy,
himself; but
only said to

78 sad when
ir after hour

nate in her
maintained
lappiness as
support and
> of a happy

CHAPTER III.

After two or three years of intimacy, years in
which Sidonie acquired with marvelous el e uxu f

f we^2 S f! • Tr^ "^~ ^' "^^

01 wealtH, the friendship was suddenly broken nn

The two children promised to love each othpr .]
oldpr ^1 / ^ ^^"""^ ^"'^s grew taller and

sf.«p-... „-.! ^. '"''"® *° '•"" a^ay at once. Tl,„
->.6" =wu ^moarrassed her with questions. " '"

SIB ON IK

Where did she live ? Had she a carriage ?

Hearing them talk of their convent, of their
mutual friends, Sidonie felt that she lived in a world
apart — a thousand leagues from theirs ; and a mortal
sadness overwhelmed her, above all, when on her
return home her mother spoke of entering her as
apprentice to a Mademoiselle Le Mire, a friend of
the Dolobelles, who had in a neighboring street an
establishment for the sale of imitation pearls.

Eisler thought well of this plan. " Let her learn
her trade," said this kind heart, " and by-and-by I
will furnish her with capital to start her in business."
In fact, Mademoiselle Le Mire talked of retiring in
a few years.

One dreary morning in November, her father
took Sidonie to the fourth story of an old house-
older and blacker than their own. On the lower
door was hung, among twenty other signs, a small
glass case, covered with dust ; within were some neck-
laces of imitation pearls, yellowed by time, and the
pretentious name of Angelina Le Mire surmounted
the whole.

What a forlorn place it was !— a narrow stairway,
and narrower door; a succession of small rooms,
each sunless and cold, and in the last an elderly wom-
an with a false front of curls, black-lace mitts, read-
ing a tumbled and soiled number of a magazine, and
appearing somewhat out of temper that she had been
disturbed in this lively employment.

Mademoiselle Le Mire received the father and
daughter without rising ; spoke at length of her lost

STORY OF '^ LITTLE CHkBEr

social position, of her father, and o7a faithless ag^t
who had run away with their fortune. She, there-
fore, became extremely absorbing to M. Chebe, who
felt a keen interest always in all such incidents.
With difficulty he tore himself away, telling his
daughter that he would come for her at seven in the
evening.

The new apprentice was shown into the still
empty work-room, and was placed before a lar^e
drawer of pearl beads, in which needles and scissors,
bodkms and cheap novels, were thrown pell-mell

Sidonie had only to sort the pearls, and to strino-
them in little bunches of equal length, to sell to
small merchants. The other young ladies, ma-
demoiselle said, would soon be there, and would
show her just what to do; and mademoiselle re-
treated to the farther room, where she spent her life
reading romances.

At nine o'clock the work-women arrived, five
tall, pale girls, faded and worn, miserably dressed,
bi>. with their hair exquisitely arranged, as is the
custom among the working-classes in Paris

Two or three talked, between their yawns, rub-
bmg their eyes, and saying that they were dyinr. for
want of sleep. Then they went to work at a W
table, where each one had her drawer and her tools!
An order had just come in for some mourning orna-
ments and they must hurry. Sidonie, who had
been taught her duties by the head-woman, in a tone
ot infinite superioritv, beiran to strlnc, ....i.
a quantity of black pearls.

iCiiUl

SIDONIE.

The others took no notice, other than an inquisi-
tive stare, of the new-comer, and were soon deep in
gossip over a marriage that was to take place that
day at a church round the corner.

*'Let us go," cried one dark-ejed girh "It is at
noon exactly ; we shall have time."

And at that hour the five girls snatched their
shawls and rushed down the stairs like a whirlwind,
leaving Sidonie to eat from a corner of the long
table the dinner she had brought with her. The
girl thought it dreary enough, and her life intol-
erable.

At one, the work-women returned noisy and gay.
"Did you notice the richness of that white silk?
And the veil of real point? What luck for her I"
And they continued to chatter in the work-room, as
loudly as tliey had done in the church, where, un-
awed by tlie solenmity, they had examined each
toilet in detail. A rich marriage, jewels, and fine
clothes, were the themes of their discourse. But
their fingers flew as they talked. The black walls
of mademoiselle's close rooms no longer bounded
their horizon. Their hopes and wishes had over-
leaped tliem. " If you were rich, what would you
do ? " said one. " Do ? Why, I should have apart-
ments on the Champs-filysees, and drive in my

carriage.

From her corner, Sidonie listened in silence,
handling the black beads with the delicacy and pre-
cision of touch she h^d learned from Desiree.
When her father appeared at night, he received

STORY OF '^LITTLE CUtBE:'

m mqiiisi-
)n deep in
place tliat

"It is at

3hed their
diirlwind,
■ tlie long
ber. The
life intol-

y and gay.
'hite silk?
for her!"
k-room, as
rhere, un-
ined each
, and fine
irse. Biit
Jack walls
bounded
had over-
N^ould you
lave apart-
JQ in my

n silence,
r and pre-

Desiree.

received

many compliments ou^^^T^^^^^^^^^^ .j^-^j^
Henceforward, one day was like another; the only
difference being, that some days she worked on
whi e instead of black pearls, or she strung red
beads that looked like coral, for Mademoiselle La
Mire used only imitations and tinsel-and it was
thus that ^'little Ch^be" took her first step in lifT
For some time, the new apprentice, younger and
better educ- .d than the others, found herself in
solitude among them. Later, as she grew older, she
was admitted to their friendship and confidence,
^vithout ever sharing their pleasures. She was too
proud to run through the streets to witness a mar-
riage, and when she heard of their suppers and their
dances, she shrugged her shoulders with disdain
Our visions soar higher than that, Sidonie, do they

Sometimes, toward the end of the year, she was
obliged to send her father home again without her
and remain with the others to finish some pressS
work Under the flickering light of the gas, the!

sl^s "^'^'^^^^ ^'^"* P^^^^^> white'as'tW
seves, gave one the heart-ache. It was the same

fragile brilliancy. They chatted of the thelie
and^masked balls, and the peai-ls rattled as ti:;

middle of the day the apprentices slept, or one of

lie girls borrowed a magazine from their mistress

and read aloud to the others. n^^stiess,

But Sidunie cared little for romances; she carried

SIDONIE.

one in her own small head, infinitely more interest-
ing than any she could hear read.

Nothing had obliterated her interest in the fac-
tory. Each morning, as she passed on her father's
arm, she examined it carefully. At that hour the
chimney belched forth thick volumes of black smoke.
She heard the busy hum of the laborers, and the
strong iind rhythmical strokes of the machinery,
and all these noises were confused in her memory,
with the recollection of fetes and of blue coupes,

" The child is not looking well, Madame Chebe;
she must have some amusement : next Sunday we
will all go * "-0 the country I"

These parties of pleasure, arranged by the kind-
hearted Risler for Sidonie's especial pleasure, only
depressed her. In the first place, she was obliged
to rise at four o'clock — for the poor buy all their
pleasures very dearly. There is always something
to be ironed at the last moment ; a trimming to sew
on ; to rejuvenate the everlasting little lilac muslin,
with white stripes, that Madame Chebe conscien-
tiously lengthens each year.

They start all together, the Chebes, and Eislers,
and the illustrious Dolobelle. Desiree and her
mother do not go. The delicate girl, mortified by
her infirmity, prefers to remain in her arm-chair,
and her mother stays with her child. Besides, she
has no toilet in which to appear by the side of that
great man, her husband ; she would have destroyed
all the effect.

At first, Sidonie was somewhat gay. Paris in

B interest-

n the fac-
jr father's

hour the
,ck smoke.
3, and the
lachinerj,

memory,
le coupes,
le Chebe ;
iinday we

the kind-
sure, only
IS obliged
1 all their
something
ng to sew
ic muslin,

conscien-

i Hislers,
and her
irtified by
irm- chair,
ssides, she
e of that
destroyed

Paris in

STORY OF ''LITTLE CHiJBE»

the early mist of a July morning, the stations filled
by well-dressf3d erowdo, the country seen from the
car-windows, the exercise and the fi-esli air, the per-
fuine of flowers, the green turf, all raised the youn/'
girl s spirits for a few moments, but her heart soon
grew weary as she thought of the triviality of her
amusement.

;• It is always the same thing over and over
agam ! she said to herself. In fact, Sidonie found
but one pleasure in these Sunday excursions ; and
that consisted in feeling herself admired, even by
the simple rustics whom she met on the road

Sometimes Risler, with his brother and "little
Chebe, deserted the rest of their party, and wan-
dered into the woods and meadows, to gather flowers
and trailing brand .s; these were to serve as models
for his wall-papers. Frantz, with his long arms
pulled down a spray of hawthorn or climbed on a
stone-wall to gather some wandering vine that pleased
them by its careless grace. But it was by the side
ot a river or running stream that they found their
richest harvest. For in the damper soil grew tall,
flexible plants whose long, slender stems threw out
luxuriant masses of leaves ; and reeds of a rich
brown, or a wild convolvulus with its bunches of
brigat-blue flowers. Risler grouped his leaves, his
buds and flowers, as if Kature alone had done it,
tying his bouquet with a wide blade of grass, and
hung It oyer Frantz's shoulder, and on they ;ent
I isler talking all the time of subjects and comb nj

f
J

1 ^

1 ■

SID ON IE.

" Look," said he, " at tliat cluster of lilies of
the valley, with its greenish bells, peeping through
that branch of wild roses! Don't you think it
would have a pretty effect on a ground of pale
gray ? " ^

Sidonie cared little for lilies or roses. Wild
flowers were but weeds in her eyes. She remem-
bei-ed those m the conservatory at Grandfather Gar-
dinois's, and thought of the rare plants growin- in
the majolica vases on the balcony. Those were^'the
only flowers she loved, so you may fancy that she
cared little for the country.

These recollections of the chateau de Savigny
came to her at each step. If they passed a pavk-
gate, she cast a lingering glance up the straight
avenue. The green lawns, shaded by tall trpes, vq.
called other trees and other lawns. These glimpses
of unattainable luxury made these excursions infi-
nitely dreary to her. I3ut returning home utterly
overwhelmed her. The small stations in the vicinity
of Pans are on such evenings fearfully crowded and
uncomfortable. Eut M. Chc^be was in his element •
he bustled about, complained of a train that was
relayed for two or three minutes, and threatened
loudly to call on one of the directors. " Imagine "
he said in a blustering tone, " such a thing happen-
mg in America ! "

And the noble actor answered with a shruff of
the shoulders, " Precisely I "

The single word, thanks to the wonderful talent
of the comedian, conveyed to the gaping spectators

if.

STORY OF '' LITTLE CH^BE:'

the idea that the two men had just returned from a
voyage around tlie world.

Seated by Frantz'e side, his enomous bouquet
half in her lap, Sidoi.ij remained for a long time
absolutely silent ; contemplating the black masses of
trees agamst the skies, a long country road, and the
crowd that came and went occasionally through the
glass doors of the waiting-room, the young girl
caught a glimpse of a train that Hashed by without
stopping ; then came the one that her party was to
take, and they hastened to find seats. How dusty
and uncomfortable it all was!— the tumbled, soiled
dresses of the women, the men red and warm. A
thick white dust obscured the one lamp, and hunc^
hke a mist over everything. Sidonie pushed up the
window at her side, and fixed her eyes on the loner
rows of trees as they glided past. Soon, like count''-
less stars, they saw before them the street-lamps of
Paris. This melancholy day of pleasure was at last
over, and each member of the now silent party be-
gan to think of to-morrow's toil. Sidonie rebelled
at this contemplation, and envied the rich, to whom
each day brought fresh amusements ; and vaguely,
as in a dream, peopled the fair avenues she had
seen, with a crowd of well-dressed men and women,
who were amusing themselves by watching the
citizens who, in the face of heat and dust, and so
much discomfort, had persisted in seeking a holi-
day.

From her thirteenth to her seventeenth birth-

dav. such wns RirlnnJ^'a T«.^r,^+^, i-j?- -»» -•

^. vui-^ « isiviivtviiuus iXLu. ivi rvGame

SIDONIE.

Cli^be's cashiTiere sliawl was a trifle more woi-n,
and the lilac dress was irretrievably shabby ; these,
and an additional inch to Sidonie's lieight, were all
the changes. Frantz now treated the girl with
silent adoration, which she alone, of all their little
circle, failed to detect. Nothing interested her ; slio
performed all her duties silently and mechanically.

Frantz, on the contrary, worked with singular
energy ; it was easy to see that he proposed to him-
self some end and aim, and succeeded so well that
at twenty-four he received a government appoint-
ment.

On the fevening of that day Risler invited all the
Chebe family to go to the theatre. He and Madame
Chebe exchanged a constant succession of nods and
signs. On coming out, Madame Chebe resigned
Sidonie to the care of Frantz with an air that seemed
to say, " Now, settle it all between you— it is your
own affair."

And the young lover was quite ready. The-
walk was a long one, so Frantz began by speaking
of the play. "I like those," he said, "in which
there is some sentiment ; don't you, Sidonie ? " ho
asked.

" I don't care," she answered, "what the play is,
if the dresses are pretty."

In tnith, at the theatre she thought of little else,
and the scene simply inspired her with a wild long-
ing for wealth and power, and she took away with
her only new models for a dress, or for the arrange-
ment of her hair.

ore M'oi'Ti,
by ; those,
;, were all
girl with
their little
[1 her ; she
laiiical ly.
1 singular
id to him-

well that
: appoint-
ed all the
I Madame
nods and

resigned
at seemed
it is your

ly. Tlie-
speaking
in which
lie?" ho

e play is,

ittle else,

did long;-

way with

arrange-

STORY OF "LITTLE CH^BE»

The exaggerated toilets of the actresses, their
very walk and attitudes, ahsurdly conventional,
seemed to her the perfection of elegance and dis-
tinction. The crowded house, the carriages at the
door, all delighted her.

Her lover continued :

"How well they played that love-scene!"—
and, as he uttered these words, he bent tenderly
over the pretty little head in its white hood.

Sidonie sighed : " Ah ! yes, the love-scene. The
actress wore superb diamonds."

There was a moment's silence. Poor Fi-antz
had some difficulty in explaining himself. The
words he sought came not at his bidding, and ho
felt himself growing very cowardly.

" I will speak," he said to himself, " before we
turn the next corner."

But Sidonie began to talk on such indifferent
subjects that his declaration froze on his lips.
At last he said suddenly :

" Listen to me, Sidonie— I love you "

^ This same night the Dolobelles had sat up very
late. It was the habit of these courageous women
to make their hours of toil as many as possible, and
their lamp was the last to be extinguished in their
quiet street. They always waited for the return
of their hero, for whom they kept a small, comfort-
ing supper hot.

"When he was playing— years before— naturally

and Wisfilv AnAnfTll fln'a V^«1^,V 1,^,1 1 .1 , -, -

-^. --..^„j^^ ^^i„ iJttLfiL HUM uuen auoptea, lor

SID ONI E.

is ^i

Le was o ,l,gcd to Uine early and lightly. Uut Dolo-
belle Lad not played for a long tuj; yet haS
"o nght, as he said, to reli„ani.h tl^ dltl f
careful ly retained the habits it necessitated of which
h hot supper was by „o .ncans the leLt ^ 1
able lo retire without it would have been to
a nut hnnself coa<i„ered-to relinquish he 2ug

2-ofnothi^^^

SaiUre'ir. "' ''- ^■""'•^ '"^' '^p-^ -

« An.l now » said Madame Dolobelle, "we must
look up a nice little wife for him." "'e must

Such was also Desiree's idpa «tt- i
would be quite certain sl'uld marr^^^Jr/i,:;!^^
M-o„,an who is not afraid of work, and X w Sd
devote herself to hirn '' AnH n' • ^ vviuwouja
^^e knew such a woman ^1^'l^^ZZ

"No, not precisely," answered the girl slowlv

'But no one knows save myself how much hi t^

an loves Frantz, and how she has thought of him for

lor tlaa little foolish kitten, Sidonie. But it will all

IiSeT '"^i '"^^ " "^^- thrown a'^ay?

And the lame girl smiled softly to herself as slm

bont over her work, and started ofl on oTe of those

STORY OF ^^ LITTLE CIlI>BE»

^_ 45

marvelous journeys to an iinaginary world, wli^o
she always returned a happy wife on the arm of
Irantz. Even her fin^rers shared the radiaar>e of
her dream, and the little bird whose wings she was
spreading looked as if he had just arrived from a
troi)ical land of fruit and flowers.
^ The door suddenly opened.

I "Do I disturb you ? » asked a triumphant voice.

Ihe mother, half asleep, started up.
"Ah I It is only Frantz-come in. You see
we are waiting for papa. These artists, you know
are always irregular in their hours. You will wait
and sup with him ? "

"I^o--tlianks," answered the youth, wliose lips
were stdl white with emotion, «I will not waif I
Baw your light, and came only to tell you-to infonu
you of a great piece of news, because I know you
love me-in short, I have come to tell you that
i^ rantz Risler and Sidonie are engaged."*

" Just as I was saying to D^sirle that you only
needed now a little wife to be perfectly happy "
cned Madame Dolobelle, congratulauug the Gun-
man heartily. o j o

Desir^e could not speak. She bent her head
ower over her work, and as Frintz was absorbed in
Ills own happiness, and her mother had eyes only
lor the clock, no one saw tae young girl's emotion,
nor her sudden pallor, nor noticed the violent trem-
bhng of the little bird in her fingers, whose wings
drooped and head fell on one side like a creature
nrvauQuu Lo aeatii.

1 ' i,il '

CHAPTER ly.

STORY CF

"Lrrri-E crfBE»_TnE FmE-FLIES OP
SAVIGNY.

Tr nn ft 'P'"'*-- ^™"<^P^ liad been out of tem

cousin has become a m «T^^ i ^ P.' ^^^ides, my
u Q J J 'J«^t.ome a man of busmess in thesp ^n^ri

"Suddenly grandpa turned to mp '^^.7

up, mv dpflr qnri To *^ ^" ^^^' cheer us

tll%« kM ^ ''™'"'' ^°'' ^« «" "^od some-
. *' ^^v^nj is only a lovely desert Tn fl.«

to my room, throw ofiE all my wT put onnV "*
dress and feed the chickens anHir, TI T
i^^&^''"^« nearatha"nd,t^^I loT^l
waid to that as some amusement. George and my

STORY OF '^ LITTLE GUMEr

father will both be here more, and you too— for you
are going to answer at once, and tell me what dav

welTSr;- ^ ^''^^T'^ ^^^ were\"ot!4t5
wel , and the air here will do you a world of ^ood.

iinpatf:n:r°' "'^"^^ ^^^'^^^ ^ ^- ^^-i-th

"Claire ."

Her letter was finished, and Claire Fromont put
on her wide-brimmed hat, for the August sun was
very hot, and went herself to place it in the little
box on the park-gate, from which the postman
■ would take it the following morning, m kindly
breeze whispered in the girl's ear a warning to pre-
vent her sending that fatal letter, and she hurried
back to the house to prepare for Sidonie a pretty
room next to her own.

The letter reached its destination, arriving in
±;aris the next morning, and was duly delivered to
bidonie. What an event it was ! They all read it
over and over again, and for the next week it lay
on the chimney-piece with Madame Ch^be's more
precious relics of the past. To Sidonie it was like
a romance full of enchantment and of promise.
There was no talk of her marixage now-every one
was absorbed in her toilets for the chdteau; every
one was busy in cutting and sewing, while sht. her-
self was all the time occupied in trying on her new
dresses. Unfortunate Frantz I How all these prep-
arations made his heart ache I This visit to Savic^y
would postpone his marriage. It was in vain "f or
mm to oppose the plan, and he saw Sidonie slipping

8ID0NIE.

ifls w 'If

each day, as it were, from his grasp. Once at Sa-
vignj, who could say when she would return ?

It was to the Dolobelles that the unhappy lover
went with his melancholy forebodings; and he never
noticed how D&ir6e, as soon as he entered, made a
place for him at her work-table, with eyes cast down
and scarlet cheeks.

For several days the beetles and birds had been
laid aside. The mother and daughter were em-
brmdenng some rose-colored flounces for a dress of
Sidonie s, and never had the lame girl sewed more
diligently, for she inherited much of her father's
hopeful heart and powers of self-deception

While Frantztold her of his disappointment and
of his fears, Desiree thought only that, were Sidonie
onee far away, he would fall into the habit of com-
ing to her for consolation. Perhaps, too, a Imppy
night would come when, as they sat alone waiting
for 'papa," Irantz would realize the difference b^
tween a woman who adored him and one who mere-
ly permitted herself to be adored.
_ Consequently, the impatience she felt for Sido-
nie s departure lent to her needle such e.rtraordi-
nary velocity that Frantz watched the ruffles and
ruches piling up about her with almost a feelin- of
Latred-for Sidonie's departure was only delayed
until the rose-colored dress was finished. When the
last stitch was taken. Mademoiselle Chobe left for
Savigny The chdteau, built in the time of Louis
AV had an air of sombre magnificence. It stood
m the centre of a large park, and the trees surround-

uy.ii

e at Sa-
n?

57 lover

le never

made a

st down

ad been
jre em-
iress of
d more
father's

mt and
5idonie
f com-

happj
raiting
ice be-

mere-

Sido-
•aordi-
!S and
ing of
jlajed
3n the
ft for
Loui8
stood
ound-

STOnr OF ^^ LITTLE CH^BE:^

■M

wf« '1 TT"^"^ ' Y the^i;;;^;^;;;;:;^;^

was a lovely river that ran through the grounds
Unfortunately, the manners and ap^rancf of tt
present proprietors did not correspond with the
aristocratic air of the chateau.

The wealthy tradesman, after buying the estate
from Its impoverished owners, cut down many o^
the trees "to open a view," and then built a Lh
wall to keep out intmders. But his tenderest solici-
tude was lavished on his vegetable-garden
^ Of the salon, whose white panels were finished

day, of the lake, whitened by water-lilies; of thegrot-
toes and bridges, he thought nothing, save when his
guests went into ecstasies over them. Advanced in
years, he could neither hunt nor fish, and passed his
^me in superintend- .. the most minute details of
this enormous proj ... The gi-ain Math which the
poultry was fed, the number of bundles of straw
piled in the barn, served him to scold about for a
ong summer's day. And certainly, when one he-
held from afar off this beautiful spot, the shininc.
nver and green turf, the trees and the flowers, one
would never have suspected the meanness and nar-
row mmd of its owner, who lived there throughout

with^hTm ' "^^""^""^ '""^^ ^^'^' ^^^"^^''^

Madame Fremont was of a gentle nature, but
dull and without cultivation, intimidated from her
birth^ by her father's brutal disposition. She was
-x^xu, coo, 01 u,.r husband, whose goodness and con-

SID ON m

Btant indulgence had never succeeded in winning
the entire confidence of his wife. Having always
been kept in utter ignorance of business-matters,
thcj had grown lich almost without her knowledge,
and without the smallest desire on her part to profit
by it. Her superb apartments in Paris and her
father's chateau were equally a burden to her.
She always gathered ^^er skirts about her closely,
and made it her study to take up as little sp; e as
possible. She had but one passion, one pursuit in
life: she was simply deranged on the subject of
cleanliness and order, and brushed and dusted, pol-
ished and rubbed, everything she could get hold of.
^ When she could find nothing else to clean,
this singular woman took out her rings and chains,
rubbed down her cameos and loosened her jewels
from their settings. At Savigny she amused her-
self by picking up the twigs in the avenue, by dig-
ging out the moss between the stones with the point
of her umbrella, and would have liked to dust the
very leaves on the trees.

M. Fromont had no attachment for Savigny,
and only Claire loved the beautiful pai-k. She
knew its every corner, and had her favorite walk,
her own tree, under the shade of which she read or
sewed. She spent the whole day in the air, and
went into the house only when summoned by a bell
to her meals. In the folds of her dress lingered
the freshness of the summer's day; and her soft,
limpid eyes seemed to reflect the sparkle and glitter
of the lake near which she had wandered in solitude.

STORY OF •• LITTLE CIlkBEy

wmumg
always
matters,
>wledge,
:o proUt
Lnd her
to her.
closely,
spiice as
rsuit in
)ject of
ed, pol-
lold of.
clean,
chains,
jewels
3d her-
by dig-
e point
ust the

Lvigny,
. She
J walk,
'ead or
ir, and
■ a bell
tigered
r soft,
glitter
litude.

The beanty of the plac^^I^^^^^^^;;;:^^^
above the vnlgar routine of the day. Her .rand
father might fret and f .me before her for houT o
gether ; he m.ght tell her anecdotes of the duplicity
and mdolence of the servants and tradespeojj
Her mother might enumerate all her gr erand
complain of the ravages n.ade by moths !ndm"e
by dust and dampness ; but not a syllable w^a re
membered by Claire. An hour by tl/e river-si e or
a rapid walk on the turf, and her mind was tn
calm and her t.mper unsoured. ^

Her grandfather regarded her as a creafure

otally out of place in his family. Wll ate ,

chdd, she annoyed him by a certain steadfast Took

n her big gray eyes, and by a w^ay she had of set

tling every subject by the question, "Is that right"'>

She IS just like her father," he said to hhn^elf

tastP T 2 f' """' ^'^^ ^"^''^^ ^^^^'^ to his
taste. In her he recognized a kindred soul a

.ature as amb tious and unscrupulous as his own
Ibe young girl flattered him in a hundred adroi

ways. Her frank adoration for his weali itr ou
po^n longings for riches, were a constan't delight

to him She amused the old man, too, by certain

Blang phrases, reserved for his heaing alone S

wh.hac^^^^^

When Sidonie arrived itfp». n i i

• -—- - ^" ^^e extreme of the mode, her

f\ a

*i'

SWONIE.

prettj figure and intelligent, mobile face, she had a
great success. Old Gardinois was astonished to see
this tall young girl, instead of the child he had ex-
pected,^ and thought her infinitely more attractive
than Claire. Sidonie had both grace and style;
but she lacked the calm beauty of her friend, the
purity of expression, the sweetness and repose of
manner, that characterized Claire.

Sidonie's grace, like her costume, was of inferior
quality. The material was often imitation, always
cheap, but made up in the newest style.

The girl was radiant as she drove up the avenue.
She had been in a dream of dciight all the morning!
She took in 6ach luxurious detail. The liveried ser-
vant who opened the carriage door, the glitter of
the dinner-table with its silver and glass, the hot-
house flowers, even Madame Fremont's indolent
way of giving orders to the obsequious maid, de-
lighted her.

Ah! yes; this was living, indeed! Th's was
the existence for which she was made ! In a day
or two she almost forgot that she was a stranger,
and looked on this luxury as her own. Suddenly,
to arouse her from her dream, came a letter from'
Frantz, that recalled her to the reality of her posi-
tion, and to the fact that she was about to marry
a poor man who would install her in a dark and
dreary home.

Should she break off her marriage ?
She could do so, of course, but might she not
regret the step afterward ?

STORY OF '^ LITTLE CH^BEr

i 5 !

In tliat small head many singular ideas had
taken firm root. Sometimes she contemplated
Grandpa Gardinois, who in her honor had aban-
doned a certain old Test and gaiters, with a very
smgnlar expression. "Ah! if he were only some
twenty years younger!" she said to herselt\ But
this notion of becoming Madame Gardinois did not
last long. A new person and a new hope entered
upon the scene. r >-u

Since Sidonie's arriyal, George Fromont, who
before had yisited Sayigny only on Sundays, had
taken up the habit of coming daily to dinner

He was a tall, slender fellow, distinguished in
appearance and manners; an orphan, he had been
brought up by his uncle, M. Fromont, who in-
tended that he should be his successor in business,
and also that he should marry Olaire. This future
so carefully arranged for him, depriyed him of all
ambition. From the first he disliked the manufac-
tory; as to his cousin, there existed between them
a certain mtimacy, arising from common tastes and
in erests, to say nothing of early companionship.
Jiut there was no loy^on his side, at all events.

With Sidonie he felt at once timid and anxious
-anxious to produce a good impression, and too

with her studied graces, to please a nature like his •

Bt hlllTnrrtfdr" ''^ '''''-'''''' ''^ -^'^
^^ When the two young girls sat on the hanV ,>f
me ruer, it was always Sidonie who listened for

t-,.

SID OKIE.

the whistle of the coming train, and George's first

ground, but who, by her studied attitude and con
«p.cuous costume, seemed to demand attentLT
Ihere was no word of love between the two b"t
every snnle and glance was full of silent avowl
and encouragement. avowals

of ?r ""X^Yy ''^'"""g-the «- was full

friends left tl A > ^"^ oppressivc-the two
taends left the table as soon as dinner was over and
paced up and down the avenue. George foined
them and the three chatted on indifferent^uCs
sTeps IV %' P^'""^^ S™*«<^ ""-J-- *-•■• Blow'

wait togetherl^bllartr;, th'S^onTylr ,?

A damp soft wind blew in their faces. The lit-
t^ lake nppled and dashed in minute waves atainst
the arches of the stone bridge TIib „„! • .
Kme-trees filled the air withth^ir^^f L" Id^a

_ " Look at those lovely fire-fiies I " cried the vonno.
giri, embarrassed by the long silence. ^ ^

vJr or *''' ^^^ «^'"<^' ^d the small, greenish
l-gnts. She stooped to take ,ne on her flng!r
■tie came anrl trplf ox v-_ . , , ^ *

Kneit at iiur Biae ; close together

STORY OF ''LITTLE CII^BBy

?e's first
lie back-
tnd con-
tention,
wo, but
avowals

i^as full
le two
"^er, and
joined
objects,
r slow
yeorge
led to
de be-
d not

le litr
gainst
8 and
md a
e air •

they bent over the turf, and looked at each otlier by
the light of the fire-ilies. How strange and lovely
she was in that singular reflection which illuminated
her forehead and rippling hair I He threw one arm
around her, and, suddenly feeling that she yielded
to his embrace, he pressed a long kiss on her lips.

'^ What are you looking for ? " asked Claire from
the deep shadow behind them.

George could not speak, but Sidonie rose from
her knees with the greatest calmness, saying, as she
shook out her skirts :

"Fire-flies only— see how many there are to-
night, and how they glitter ! "

Her eyes glittered, too, with extraordinary brill-
iancy.

" It is the coming storm, probably," murmured
George, still struggling to restrain his emotion.

In fact, the storm was close at hand. In a
moment a whirlwind of dust and dead leaves flew
from one end of the avenue to the other. All three
ran into the house.

George tried to read a paper, while Madame
Fromont cleaned her rings ; the young ladies occu-
pied themselves with their embroidery ; and M.
Gardinois played a gams of billiards in the next
room with his son-in-law.

How long this evening seemed to Sidonie ! She
had but one desire, and that was to be alone, free to
think her own thoughts. But in the silence and
darkness of her own room what transports of joy
filled her soul! Georije loved her — George Fro-

aiDON-iE.

mont the LoiV /vfTi ~ I ^ -—

vermi nature the first IhL * . '° *^'« ''"'e

on', thoughts of aXt;/,;°- -'' -keuod

ty, « ho tS trni\r'' f :'^''°-'« ---

«^-eno in the ZZri^I "'"^ '^'"^ ''^ "^« '^"'^f
the ardor of his oI,i'l7,r '''» ,«f '"^ «^««'
tored as he pre.«ed h ! ll . , ' """''^' ""'' ^^ "'-

"ot the «ro.fli: 'own fer hi t" . ^'" "'^^ ''"^
eyes? All „i„.|,t tCv r }T^ "' ""«" «« his
e/es; the park tj f^n'T!^ '^^f'"-« I'er closed
looked from the l7jo^ ^ *""• ^'eepless she
^ith the tiny areatoi T~. /'7 '''' ^'''^ '•^diant
torches asse,Lrd to 1 , ''"^"^ *<=■» ^""^y

•George and herSf °''°'' *° ^''^ '"^"•-i'e of

co^tr^C^eoSet^dtT ^ ^'^^ -«
t-in- Would 1,: Zry heTf o !^ "'' ''"■
worldling was bv no rl ^^ *'''*' ""^ httle

did not alarm her ShTr; '"'' ''"' '^''* doubt
which she had to dea?r. ''""'' *^« "'>'"■•« ^^th
proper amount of r^ La^ce"" ''^'''"^ '"^^^ *«
-n^^e the affair JraTI^ ^ "« ^^ *» •

. «f-- found thi'srhtt^s-

''-neeeasar,forberto:Seat?:/r

iiifir

BTORT OP " LITTLE CIlkSE.'

ncBuvre so that she might go^^U^^M^^^^^^a

She wa8 not mistaken. She found a letter da.np
with the dews of the evening, and so white in W^

snTpS. '''' "" ''" " ^"^"^^ '-' ^^^^ t
Then, when she was alone, what joy to open it-

decipher Us minute characters, to see the words
tha to her dazzled vision seemed to be surrounded
with blue and yellow circles, as when one gazes at
the sun m noonday 1 *>

2 ^n T -7^°'^ ""^ ' " ^"-o'o George.

that tL '^ r' ''"'^'-'- ^"t' ^''«" «l'e felt

that the game was hers, she wrote simply, « I will

love no man but my husband."

■

CHAPTER V.

HOW "little OIiAbe's" 8T0BY ENDS.

Sewembee arrived, and with it a large number
of guests at the eMteau. They were mostly vulgar

interested S.don.e. The days were beginning to
shorten perceptibly, and the evenings ^ere dlnp

bait {' '" '"''' 'P°'*™'^" ^"-o SM to drive
back m their carnages, and, after a hurried toilet

assembled in the well-lighted drawing-rooms. '

Claire Fromont was very reserved and quiet

annoyed by the distasteful assembly in which shl'

found herself. But Sidonie was /uite i:'::' et

ment. Her complexion and eyes were more than

ordmanly brilliant, and the admii-ation of the people

flS ed r"'' T7 T"'^ ^''''^''"^- Her suceL
hmshed George's infatuation; but the more he ad-
vanced the more she retreated. From that moment
he swore she should be his wife. He swore it to
himself with that exaggeration of repetition which
characterizes those weak natures who determine to
hght in advance with those objections to which thev
are conscious that one day they will yield.

This was the most glorious moment «f " Uffi,.

now^^ LITTLE CHkBE^S" STORY B^DS.

number
'• vulgar
pecially
ling to
3 damp

drive
toilet,

quiet,
cli sbe
er ele-
e than
people
success
lie ad-
onient

it to
which
ine to

1 they

Ch^be's-life. For, above and beyond her ambitious
projects, her iiiHincere and ('oquottish nature pri/ed
this clandestine love-affair that she was brinLnn- to
so triumphant a conclusion. ^

m one suspected anything of it. Claire was at
taat healthy and charming season of youth when
the mind, but half developed, sees onlv what is
spread widely open, and suspects no concealments
or treacliery M. Fromont thought of his business,
his Wife of the dust among her jewels. It was only
M Gardinois whom Sidonie feared, and, " after
al If he were to suspect anything," ,h. said to her-
selt, he IS not the man to betrav me,' She tri
umphed, when suddenly a catastp-r^ic, toully un-
foreseen and unsuspected, came to c!i :;trc-v all her
hopes. '^

One morning M. Fromont was brought in mor-
tally wounded ; he had received the full charge of
his own fowling-piece in his temple. The chdteau
was in confusion, and the party dispersed in every
direction Claire, crazy with grief, was in her father's
room, when Risler, informed of the catastrophe,
came to take Sidonie away. On this last evenin-'
8he had a final interview with George-an inteit
view saddened and solemnized by the near presence
ot death. They promised to love each other al ways
and agreed on some plan of correspondence, and
tnen they separated.

Sidonie returned home under t!ie care of Risle.-

who was in flpflrkQi'i. . -P^« <•!,_ J-,n4.T, £ -u. '

cxiii Oi Ills mastei*
•ievable loss. She

and

111

m 'II

SIBONIE.

was compelled to give to her mother and the Dolo-
belles each detail of her visit, to enumerate theXt
and the toilets and, fl,>ally, to describe the Zl S
aster at the end. The pain and agony this cost

a:z:,i:r ^ ^"^-' - ^- ^-^"/for snenc:

Frantz took his old place at her side, and his
words and tender looks drove her nearly mad
for the youth naturally claimed certain rights as
hronfr''^ «nd impatient lover, and Sidonie
Bhrank from even the touch of his hand. The day
arrived at ast, however, when indecision was no
longer possible. She had promised to marry Frantz

that tins was now done. She must marry him or
give hnn a reason for her refusal. In this dilemma
she thought of D&iree. Although the lame gW ad
never opened her heart to her, Sidonie thofougjlj
comprehended her love for Frantz. Had the ci^
cumstances been different, the knowledge, perhaps
tha another woman loved \..r fianciVZ^ hive
made him more endurable to Mademoiselle Chebe
Jastaswe place statues on tombs to render them'
ess sad so did the pale, pretty face of D&irde on iZ
hreshold of Sidonie's dismal future make t a " r

less dreary and hopeless. ^'^

But now she grasped at this, as furnishino- an

easy pretext for releasing herself from her promise.

„ ^ 's impossible, mamma," she s,.i,l, one day ;
1 will never consent to make Deshve so unhappy

■tlave you not noticed that. Bvor <.;n„o .„„ .„.._:

%Ji

ffOW ^^ LITTLE CHEBE^S- STORY ENDS. 61

ehe Las been pale and sad, and that she watches me
with eyes full of entreaty and reproach ? JS^o, I
wdl not do her this wrong. Poor Desiree ! " Al-
though Madame Ch^be admired her daughter's kind
and generous heart, she thought the sacrifice too
great for her to make.

"Take care, my child! we are poor, and a
man hke Frantz does not present himself everv
day." '"

['So much the worse, then, for me ! At all events
I will not marry him," cried Sidonie, and repeated
her words without wavering to Frantz himself. He
grew angry, as she would give no reasons, either to
hnn or to his brother, though her mother whispered
mysteriously to the elder brother that she was
proud of her daughter, and add. -^ under a promise
of secrecy, that it was on Desiree's account.

" Do not utter a word of reproach, my boy "
said Risler to Frantz ; " she is an angel."

" Yes, an angel I " sighed Madame Ch^be, in
Buch a way that the poor fellow decided to leave
Pans, and he immediately sought and obtained a
position at Ismailia, on the works at the isthmus of
Suez. He departed, knowing nothing of Desiree's
affection, and yet, when he went to bid her farewell
her love was plainly to be read in her clear blue
eyes. Fortunately, some suffering souls are endowed
with infinite patience. Her friend gone, the lame
girl, with the courage and hope inherited from her
father, toiled on industriously, sayiuir to herself
with a gentle smile, " I will yv^it I " and from that

I":

8ID0NIE.

i i

li ti

moment her bi.ds' wings were widely spread as if
th„re about to take flight to'E^" 'tW

lettei-a letter at once eomieal and toucLin- • a

S"wUrt'""T' -P--''--^ t-de^ss
mixed with the most commonplace details of the
vessel m which he was to sail. ^

ther laughed nor cried at this letter, for many otW
thmgs filled her head. Si.e had become ve™
louscer George's silence. Since she haStla'
T.gny she had,not received one line fron. him het
own letters elicited no response. It was true' tSa
she had learned from liisler that George wLoeou
Fed day and night, for his uncle's death'had thrown

ior , out not to write one word ! c if ^

From the window in the corridor, where she had
again resumed her silent watches (f^r she Tad r^
1 nquished her position at Mademoiselle La Mire'st
S-donie caught many a glimpse of her lover she '
aw him going iu and out of the manufactc^; and
m the evening watched him enter liis carriarre r. h„
omen to the train that was to take h mtolv :„';
where his aunt and cousin were passing thS
months of their mourning ^ '

the real d, tauce between herseJi and her lover
She could almost make him hear the sound oT^^r

HOW ''LITTLE CHEBE^S'' STORY ENDS.

voice; only a few stone-walls divided tliem ; and
yet, how far off he was I

One snowy night that winter Kisler entered
Madame Oh^be's apartment. "News!" he said
"great news ! " George Fromont had just informed
him that, in obedience to his uncle's last wishes, he
was about to marry his cousin Claire, and that, as it
was impossible for him to carry on the business
alone, he had resolved to take him into partnership,
giving to the new firm the name " Fromont & Kis-
ler."

Sidonie never knew whence came the strength
that enabled her to keep her secret, when she learned
that the manufactory had eluded her grasp, and that
another woman was about to take her place. What
a miserable evening ! Madame Chebe sat at the
table before a huge basket of ho^isehold linen, while
her husband was in front of the fire. The lamp
burned badly ; the room was cold, and an odor of
cooking hung about it ; but Kisler was gay, intoxi-
cated, in fact, with joy.

For many a long day Sidonie lay ill, dangerous-
ly ill. As the sick girl lay in her bed and heard
her windows rattle behind her curtains, she fancied
that the carriages rolling past were bearing Claire
and George to their wedding. This fancy brought
on paroxysms of nervou3 weeping, which puzzled
her nurses and physicians.

Finally, her youth and good constitution tri-
umphed, and, thanks to the tender care of her
...ji^vi aiiv* o^cDiicu, \yu{j uy tiiis time uaa learned

ji • •;

fl '

SIDONIE.

I! •;

\ ll

hmk

■H

^^KtK^

■if

■ii

^^S^ "''

. lit.

the sacnhce that had been made for her, Sidonie

rose from her siok-bed ; but the girl was ou o " !

ts and weary of her life. Sometimes she talked of

c.ded to enter a convent. All her friends watched
her tenderly, more anxious about her now than hey
Lad been when her ailment had been merely physf
cal Suddenly she acknowledged her secret^o h r
mother. She loyed the elder Kisler ; she had neyer
dared to say so but it was he whom she had alwlys

rucklfth^'p ?"""^- ^^^^^^""^ -- --d-
yount 1-T' " T'' *'^'" """y ''^''^'^ •' but the

him with such tender eyes, that it was not long be-
fore the good fellow worshiped the yery ground ot
wbch she stood. Perhaps, too, this a&f^ion ba"
omy lain dormant m the dim recesses of his heart

And now, dear reader, you understand why, on
the evening of her marriage-day, Madame Eisler, in
her ghstemng white raiment, looked forth with a
smile of triumph at the window where for the last

houis. That haughty, contemptuous smile was evi-
dently bestowed on the poor child whom she fancied

i7ti7prr ''""^' ''^ "^''^''"^^ «^ '-^^ --s^*

^. "]^'l' T y°" "'■'ying. little Ch6be?" mur-
mured bidome. « You see I am here, after all."

BOOK II.

CHAPTER I.

"my wife's eeception-day."

The manufactorj-bell has just rung; it is noon,
and mothers hurrj lioine to their babies, having an
hour of leisure, wliile Risler and his young partner
Creorge Fromont, stroll leisurely through the L^ar-
den toward the pretty home they occupy under the
same roof. They are talking earnestly on iheir
Dusmess-affairs.

"You must look out," said Fromont, «or we
shall hnd the Prochassons dangerous rivals."

Risler had no fears ; he knew his own strength,
and had had vast experience. " Then, too," he add-
ed--" but this is confidential-I am on the track
of a new invention that will be a fortune in itself"
By this time they had crossed the carefully-kept
garden, with its acacias almost as old as the house
itse f, ana its superb ivies that veiled the h-^avv
walls. "^

By Fremont's side Risler looked like a clerk ren-
dering an account of the day's transactions. Ho
i'i" ■' ""^'J ^^^^ ^^W° to unian a sentence^ for liia

( ;|-f

BID ON IE.

ill

words came My. He had no idea that a pretty
laoo ^as loobng at him It.rough the curtains of a
window m the upper storv.

cpme to lunel>, and was very i.npatient at his delay
She beck-oned to him, '.ut Kisler did not see hS

kce and nbbons. How pretty the lictle creature
was Your very image, Madame Georse ! »

_ Do you think so ? And yet almost every one
thmks her more like her father ! "

of Z''' 7T^^"' ^'™' °^ '=°"^'''- '^"'-" and all
of them-fatii«-, mother, Risler, ar,d tlie ...rse-

gravely examine th, atom of humanity, who look=

at them m turn, with wiU...por, wo/derin. ev

thtTe .n ,' '"" Y °P- «-''"«:. 'o -e what
come up. "'^' ' ''""^ '"'■ ■^"*^'"'^ ^"^^ »<"
Kisler had just taken the infant into his own
arms, ana stood, enveloped in the floating robes and
blue nbbon. trying to win a smile or a coo of de-
ight from th. child. He looked like its grand-
father <• How old the poor man is groJng!"
thought Sidonie; -'and how absurd he ifoks pL.
".g with that baby ! " At last, tired of waiting^ sTe
sent her maid to say that lunch was waiting. K,Z
consigned the infant to its nurse with eWdent re-
gret, and ran up the staircase, laughing like a school-
boy. He laughs sfll as he enters the dining-room
but one look at his wife checks his merrimenl Z

-m

"Mr WIFE'S J!ECEPTIO.V-Z>Ay:'

was eated at the table, a dmfing-clish in front of
her he knew that she was thorouH.ly out of t
per by her martyr-like air ° ^ °^ '^'"-

" How of ' K "' "^ ^^^'- ' ">=•* '''"W is . .1"
dear ? - " """ ^ '° '"^^ ^"^ »«' '° call me ' my

'VBiil if we are alone?"

I am not a Fromont and Thf .^^ ''^ ™'"«'

" I?„t J^"^'"°'"' ana f have no carriage 1 »

i3ut my dear-I beg your pardon-I mean-

you can always use Madame Georo-e's o.J„r V

lias told von flmf ,v • 1 ^'-"^ftt.s coi//?^. bhe

"An, 1, i ""'^^'^ ""^ >'°'"- disposal."

And how often am I to tell von th/t r -n

place n,yself under any obli^aion^ f^.^ . ' "'"

" O Sidonie I » """S'^t'ons to that woman ? »

a<.ailT'ti ^ ""'^r'f <^- I ■""«' not breathe a word
agamst this doll. I must allow her to tread ,,^«
under her feet ! " " '"®

wifl *aLl" ' " 'f P""-- P^'^'- *"- to -othe his
wile, and to say a few words in favor of 1,;. a

Buddenly Sidon.e burst out in a torrent of indignant

li J'f *'" ^°"' '" 'P"*" °* '"='■ *''«"'3»« air and saint-
Sl"r.r°' «-' — - >-ghty and mall
-■.... ^^u uutests me, and I know it. When I was

BIDONIE.

mill)

little Sidonie, to whom she could toss her broken
playthings and cast-off clothing, I was all veiy well
But now that I have a good position, and need no
assistance from her, too, she wishes to humiliate me
at every turn. She presumes to volunteer her ad-
vice, and to criticise my every act. She was kind
enough, too, to express her astonishment at my en-
gaging a maid-naturally— for had I not always
been accustomed to waiting on myself? She seeks
every opportunity to hurt and wound me. When I
present myself on her reception-day, you should
hear the condescending tone in which she asks for
dear Madame Chebe I Ah, well I Yes, I am a
Chebc, and she a Fromont. My grandfather was a
druggist, and here a money-lender and a peasant I
1 shall tell her so some fine day, and shall also take
occasion to mention that the linle girl of whom she
^so proud is the living image of old Gardinois, and
Heaven knows that he is no beauty ! "

"My child!" gasped Risler, who could find no
words to answer such a tirade.

" Yes, admire that baby if you choose ! " It is
always ill, and cries half the night, and keeps me
awake. In the morning the mother's piano begins."
Kisler adopted the wisest course— he said not
one syllable in reply. But after a while, when he
saw that his wife was calmer, and looking a little
ashamed of her outbreak, he began to say a few
complimentary words to her. ,

" That is a very pretty costume. Are you ffoinff
to pay visits to-day ? " ^ & 8

"Jfr WIFE'S RECEFTI0X~DA7»

"No, I am not going out," answered Sidonie.
" On the contrary, I receive. Tin's is my day."

Seeing ber Imsband's look of utter astonishment,
she continued: " Yes, it is my day. Why should I'
not have a day as well as Madame Fromont ?"

" Without doubt— certainly," muttered poor Ris-
ler, looking about him anxiously. « That is the reason,
then, that there are so many flowers in the rooms?"

"Yes.. This morning, when I sent Justine into
the garden— I am wrong again, then, am I ? You
do not say so, but I can see that you think I had no
right to send Justine for flowers. I thought the
garden belonged to us as well as to the Fromonts ? "

" It* does, certainly ; but it would have been
better—"

" To ask for them— I suppose— of course. Pile
on the humiliations, I beg of you ! A few miser-
able chrysanthemums, and some green branches, are
worth asking for, are they not ? At all events, I
took them openly, and when she comes up by-and-
by I will show them to her."

" Shb is coming, then ? How good of her I "
Sidonie started up in a rage.
" Good of her ! And why, pray ? Do I not go
every Wednesday to her rooms, where I am bored
to death by her attitudes and affectations ? "

Madame Risler omitted to state that these same
Wednesdays had been of immense service to her—
that they were like a weekly journal des modes,
where she had been taught how to enter and leave a
-how to receive and dismiss a guest— where

room-

SIDONIE.

to place J,o.- flowers. Nor diTsidonie ^TZt

seW fail f„ T"" '' y""""^ ^''^^'"« Froniont l.er-
Belt fail to make her appearance^ 'J-.v.nie erew
more and more disturbed and a. ,.„u. IfaZ
went on. "Trnpret" „).„ • , ■ uie day

luiriyi she cried, jmi,atentlv : "how-
long you are to-day over tlie Junch-table < "

smoke h,s p,pe at table over his coffee. B J f

he was robbed of these dear dcli-dits I i» ^.-""^
must not be taken from its easeVon c^ou" of'k!

ma violent mrry, as he must change his dress so
«iat he might present idmself to the lad es Ta h °
Wife's salon, later in the day ' '

seenTo enr"''''°" ? *''' ^'"='°''^' ^l^''" R'^'er was
s^en to enter on a week-day in a black coat an.l white

Tot a't ^,"^^;^^'-»"^^-.«>-d. "ot without pride
iNotatall. It is my wife's dav 1 "

.»,.*• "". ''"''''•^ ""'' ''"®«' *'"'* it ^"8 Sidonie's re

onghly out of temper because the la uel at the sate
Lad been robbed of its best branches. ^

windowt-',' f/r^'^S-ho.r., „„,«r the hiVa

window, Risler had thrown aside his coat and tumeH

up his fresh cuffs !?iit th^ ■ lumel

»" cuus. i,ut the consciousness th"": his

•^^

''MY WIFE'S RECEPTIOK-BAYr

wife expects company disturbs him, and occasion-
ally he puts on his coat and mounts the private stairs
to ascertain how thin<(s are going.

" No one here yet { " he asks, timidly.

*' No one, sir."

In the red drawing-room— for they have a salon
furnished in red damask— Sidonie is installed on a
low couch— several arm-chairs in front of her, a
small tal»^o at her side, on which lie a book or two,
a work-basket, and a bunch of violets. All is ar-
ranged exactly as at the IVomonts', on the story
below. But the indefinable good taste which char-
acterizes all Claire's belongings is lacking in Si-
donie's rooms. The mistress of the house is too
elaborately dressed ; her costume is too new— she
has rather the air of paying a visit thuu of receiving
one. But, in Risler's eyes, everything is superb.
Ho began to say so as ho entered the room, but his
wife's frown intimidated him.

*' You b<to," she said, pointing to the clock, an-
grily, " it is ''our o'clock— no one will come now.
But '^1 aire's impertinunce is unpardonable ; she is
at home, for 1 1 rd her come in ! "

In fact, evi • sinco oon Sidonie had heard every
sound in the house— Uxo child's cry, and the lullaby
of the nurse. Not a door had opened or shut with-
out Jladame Risler's perceiving it, Risler wished
to retreat, and thus avoid heariii- the old com-
plaints, but his wife objected,

'' You, at least," she said, " might remain, since

So the poor

ill

■U:M

■j

'V'.-

all flirt »/>ci4- .^^ *V.£|. .„^_1,3 _T • *%

swoms.

Si; "Tf'° '"'' ""^'"'•^> ^*°'"' g'-ed at a
wiiiUow, leeliii;; verv much i;b«

dares not ,.,ove" .luiTilu/lU^CTe/!::
Bho„M attract the li.Stuin, to lu« own defoioL

Sidonio movea about restlesslv aJi.Yfo « i •
and finally p„,, the bell violen f ' "^t^^
If no one Ims eo.ue for mo to-dfv " ^ .f
-.t turned to obe, her, M^nt^^M^f ^^ -"

am oi' '" ^"^ f '■'""'^'^' '"" P'^of'^ that I

But no, Achille had seen no one.

the itv "fl"' ''""^*"-'"'"''" f"" on tl'e inmates of
W f '"^^.^""'^■-^'•cnted roo,n. Ridonie follows
her husband's example and takes up a position^
ano her window. Both look down'ln tre g °deL
dimly seen through the gathering twillWU SM,!
".ond's lan>p is already lighted, and his lishSw
waver,, on the ceiling of the co;,nting-room":

Suddenly a co^^p6 drives up to the door-from
It emerges a mass of lace and velvet L ?^
f-js-aud SHonie recogni.es one of Sre^m^^
fasl .enable friends. A visitor at last! So the
httle household falls into position. The gentle
...an leans idly on the mantel, and the lady!! het
low^cha. carelessly turns over the leaves of Tnew

not for s!i'"'-'' :r,*™^ "^^y ; th« ^i^'-' was
below ! ^"^°°'^-'''« ^^^f' <^^ was for the floor

"MY WIFE'S reception-day:'

Ah I if Madame Geornje could but have heard
ihc denunciations of herself and her friend I

At this moment, the door was thrpu'n open, and
Mademoiselle Planus was announced. This lady
was the cashier's maiden sister — a sweet and gentlo
old lady, who came as a matter of duty to pay a
visit to the wife of her brother's employer, and who
was overwhehned with amazement at the warmth
of the welcome she received. Sidonie was very gra-
cious, happy to show herself in all her glory to a
former acquaintance. She talked and laughed gayly,
that Madame George might know that she had vis-
itors ; and, when the lady went away, Sidonie ac-
companied her to the head of the stairs, with a
great rustling of flounces and a sharp click of high-
heeled boots, and called out loudly that she was al-
ways at home on Fridays.

Now it is night. In the next room the table is
being laid for dinner. Madame Fremont will not
come, and Sidonie is white with indignation. " We
are too insignificant for your idol to visit," she said,
" but I will revenge myself in some way ! " And,
as she raised her voice angrily, her intonation lost
its refinement, and betrayed Mademoiselle La Mire's
apprentice.

Risler murmured : " Who can tell what the rea-
son is ? The child may be ill."

She turned fiercely upon him.

" It is your fault entirely," she cried ; "you have
taught your friends to neglect and insult me." And
the door of her sleeping-room was shut with such

< i

SID mm

murmured, moolianieally : ^^"''' ""^

" My wife's day 1 »

S,!i

CHAPTER II.

REAL PEARL, AND IMITATION PEARL.

" What is the matter ? What have I done to
her? 'I asked Claire of herself, as she tlioiight of
Sidonie. Slio was absohitely ignorant of all that
had passed between her friend and George at Sa-
yigny. ^ With her straightforward natnre, it was
impossible for her to imagine the jealousy and low
ambitions that had grown up at her side, and yet
her former friend's cold and disdainful air disturbed
the calmness of her daily life.

To a polite reserve, singular enough from a per-
son whom she had known so intimately, suddenly
•succeeded an air of angry contempt, before which
Claire stood as helpless and silent as before a mathe-
matical problem. Sometimes, too, a vague presenti-
ment assailed her— a suggestion of possible unhap-
piness — for women are always more or less clear-
sighted, and even those most innocent and unsus-
picious have wonderful intuitions. Occasionally,
Madame Fremont would wonder at Sidonie's con-
duct, but her own life was so full of tender cares for
husband, child, and mother, that she had little time
to spare for Sidonie's caprices. Had she been still

SIDOjYIB.

umnarne,! tins sudden destruction of an old friend-
tiup would l,ave pained her intensely ; but noraU
was changed ; even Sidonie's n^arilge Ld „o
astomshed her. HUW was too old, ceftainlv ; bu
what d.d It nsatter, if his wife loved hiui ? ^

As to being vexed that "little Chiibc » had
reached her present position, such an idea had never
ente ed Cla.re's n.ind. Her nature M-as too gener
ous for such baseness. She had, on the confrarT
hopeu sjncerely that this young woman, who had livid
under the s.ame roof as herseff, would be happy a„d
contented in her new position. In the mo t affec
onate manner she sought to advise her, and to k
B^.-uct her in the ways of the world to wLch she"
was as yet a stranger. "^

Between two women, eqnally pretty and eauallv

inl tone < tL ■°'""^"''°"'?' '"" ^"'^ '" » ^'^"'-^
m„ tone Too many jewels, dear ; and then von

know w,th a high-necked dress, one sho. dl^ver
heTfreTtt ^'^ ^^^^ ''"^'^ -o-l, tl.aX

ceived ^XrY':^' Sidonie had been coolly re-
sTons b„t^ '; '''"^""•? St-Germain has its pretent
s^ons but, ,f you „„agine that the mercantile com
mum y are without them, you are greatly m aken'

knew It" eTl-"'. '^''''T "' ^'^^-^^^''^^'o
Knew Jittle Chdbe s story, and, had they not known

It, they would have iruessed it f..,. >.i.! . "y""

„ -,v«.i tivi way 01 prtj.

REAL PEARL, AND IMITATION PEARL. 77

senting herself to their notice. She was too eager
and too humble, and about her lingered something
of the air of a shop-girl ; and her occasional disdain-
ful attitudes recalled the young women in black
silk, in a millinery establishment, who are absolutely
imposing from the height of the puffs and curls on
their heads, and who look with utter contempt on
the ignorant persons who attempt to make a bargain.

Sidonie felt herself criticised and examined, and
she prepared for battle. The names pronounced in
her presence— the fetes— diwdi the books of which
they talked — were equally unknown to her.

Claire did her best to place her at her ease.

Among these ladies, several thought Sidonie
very pretty, too pretty to belong to their circle;
others, proud of their wealth, and of the success of
their husbands, found it easy to be insolently con-
descending to the little jyarvenue. Sidonie, however,
included them all in her sweeping phrase: " If they
are Claire's friends, they are my enemies," she said,
with infinite bitterness.

The two men suspected nothing of what was
going on betw ?n their wives. Hisler— absorbed in
his new invention — sat half the night at his draw-
ing-board. Fromont passed his days out of his
liouse, breakfasted and often dined at his club, and
was rarely seen at the factory. In fact, Sidonie'a
vicinity troubled him. The passionate caprice he
had had for her, and which he had relinquished at
liis uncle's bidding, still haunted his memory ; and,
feeling his own weakness, he soui:

'i pi

If If

safety in flight.

SID ox IE.

m '

The n,ght of Risler's marriage, when ho himself

tut he could not ...eet Sidonie with impuuitv
iMom that moment he avoided her society, and 2;
by any chance did her name pass his !ips.

Unfortunately, as they lived in the same house
as the lad.es exchanged a dozen visits each day ho
prospect of „,eeting l,er was always be bre'l.ta

ter^ninedTd '^ ^"^ "'•^' "'^ ^^'''^ '"•^'^-^ ™-
tenmned *o do no wrong, felt compelled to leave

cental '•',% "'' " '■•'''"^" '"^-^''-- Claire ac

to.ned her to incessant though short "trios on

verrf' r' f "^ ''"^ ''-band's absence she in-
vented for herself new pursuits and home dnties

. ,^'^:'°'° ^ent out a good deal. Often toward
n.glit, jnst as she was entering her garden itlT^
a snperb toilet, George's earrilge wfu Id daf 'pa^
her. Shoppmg, for the mere pleasure of spendiul
money, was one of her favorite amusementrandf
occupied her that she was often detained muehlat r

e lavished on the little girl who stretched forth

her arms to greet him. Sidonie seemed to have

otaly forgotten the past ; or, if she recalled at

eu, 5 Z "''"■ ""' *""«' ">°' ^^-^ -"tireJy oc-
cupied. After some hesitation, she had deci.led to
take lessons in siuirln.. tl,i„i,;„„ .,,.. ,, '"""""U to

o o, -....,a,^^ tiiiii, it was ratlier

H «wy«]r;«s;«fK;,^

REAL PEARL, AND IMITATION PEARL.

'^^

late in life to begin the piano ; and, twice each
week, Madame Dobson, a pretty, sentimental blonde,
gave her a lesson, from twelve to one o'clock. This
lesson heard througli the open windows, and tlie con-
stant practice of scales, gave to the house something
of the air of a boarding-school ; but Sidonie* had
said to herself: " Claire plays tlie piano ; she passes
for an elegant and distinguished woman ; 1 am de-
termined that the world shall say as much for me.'»
The poor child did not dream of studv, or of real
improvement in any way ; she passed her life in the
shops, and with her milliner and dress-maker.

Of those imitation pearls which she had handled
for so long a time, something still clung to her— a
httle of their brilliancy without depth, of their pale
lustre, and of their fragility. She was herself an
imitation pearl, fair and brilliant; but Claire Fro-
niont was a real jewel, a deep-sea pearl, and, when
the two women were together, it was easy to dis-
tinguish the Parisian imitation from the natural
growth.

Of all Claire's surroundings, the one which Si-
donie most envied her was her infant— a dainty
mass of ribbons and lace. She had no thought of
sweet maternal duties— no knowledge of Claire's
long hours of wakefulness— of anxious watches and
tender hopes. She never longed for the touch of
dimpled lingers, or dreamed of glad awakenings,
merry shouts, and splasliing water. JSTo mother-in-
stinct was aroused within lier empty heart; she sim-
ply regarded the child, with its fln 'vina robes, in the

8ID0NIE.

arms of its tall-capped nurse, as a charming acces-
sorj to her morning walks and spring toilets.

She liad only her parents or her husband as
companions, consequently she preferred to go out
alone. Ifer husband mortified her by his awkward
care.-8es, and a habit he had of tapping her like a
cluld on her cheek, or of taking her by the chin.
His very way of sitting and looking at her enra-ed
her--it was so like an affectionate dog ! Her parents
she had managed to dispose of for the time bein^
by mducing her husband to rent for them a little
house at Montrouge. This had put an end to M
Uiebe 8 frequent invasions, and to the interminable
visits of her mother, who, cheered by her daughter's
good fortune, was gradually falling into idle habits.
Sidome would have much liked to get rid of the
I^olobelles ; she was annoyed by their living so near
Her. Jiut the old actor was not easily moved from
a situation that he liked, having the theatres and
the boulevards so close at hand. Then Desir^e was
attached to their rooms, and their dingy court-dark
at four o clock-was to her like the familiar face of
a friend. Sidonie rarely saw her old neighbors,
however and her life would have been solitaiy
enough if It had not been for the amusements that
Claire procured for her. Each of these, however,
was a new injuiy, and she said to herself, " Must I
always be indebted to her ? "

And when, at the dinner-table, they sent her
tickets for the theatre, oi :n invitation for the even-
mg, even while she hurried tn Hrpa^ cT.« .1 1.^

-T¥>,i'

W^ftv^'-.^awAT.,

JiEAL PEARL, AND IMITATION PEARL.

only of crushing lier rival Tlicse occasions, how-
ever, became more and more infrequent, for Claire
was much occupied with her child. When her
grandfather came to Paris, he never failed to brin-
them all together. He invited them to dine Kt
Bome famous restaurant, expended a vast deal of
money, and tlipu took tliem to the theatre.

He talked familiarly to the waiters at the res-
taurant, laughed loudly at the theatre, and made
their party as conspicuous as possible. On the oc-
casion of these somewhat vulgar festivities, which
(xeorge contrived sometimes to avoM, Claire dressed
very quietly, and thus escaped observation ; Sidonie
on the contrary, made a gorgeous toilet, took a
front-seat in the box, and enjoyed the coarse jests
ot the old peasant. She looked at herself in' the
mm-ors and, with an air of proprietorship, placed her
opera-glass, handkerchief, and fan, on the red velvet
m front of her. The commonplace glitter of these
public places enchanted her, and she accepted them
as the epitome of luxury; she bloomed therein, like
a pretty paper flower in a filigree garden

One evening at the Palais Royal, when a great
crowd assembled to witness a new plav, among all the
women present -pain ted celebrities, with powdered
hair and enormous fans-Sidonie attracted the most
attention. All the opera-glasses in the house, influ-
enced by a certain magnetism, were one by one
directed to her box. Claire was infinitely annoyed,
and finally relinquished her chair to her husband
aua took refuge in the back of their box.

8TD0KIE.

George, young and very distinguished in appear-
ance, had, at Sidonie's side, the air of lier Inisband ;
while Bislcr, older and graver, looked as if he be^
longed to Cluire, who in her dark and quiet costume
had the air of a woman who desired to escape obser-
vation.

Going out, each took the aim of her neighbor,
and a little grisette, commenting loudly on Sidonie's
appearance, used the words "her husband "—and
the foolish little woman was in a glow of delight.
" Her husband ! " These simple words sufficed to
awaken a crowd of wicked thoughts and plans, that
for some time hac| slept quietly in the recesses of
her nature. She looked at Risler and at Claire as
they walked m front. Madame Fromont's quiet
elegance seemed dowdiness to her distorted vision.
She said to herself, " How vulgar I must look when
I have my husband's arm ! " and her heart beat
more quickly as she thought of the distinguished-
looking pair she and George Fromont would have
made. And when she saw Claire and her husband
enter the well-known blue covpe, she allowed her-
self to dwell on the idea that Claire had stolen her
place, and that she had a right to take it again if
she could.

^ i I

CHAPTER HI.

TOE TAVEIOr OP TOE ElE BLONDEL.

_ Ever since his marriage, Rislcr had given up go-
mg to the brewery. Sidonio would have no objee-
t.on to an elegant club, but tlio idea of his spending:
an evening over his pipe witli Dolobelle, and Si.^is-
mond h.9 cashier, liumiliated and annoyed her
Consequently he never wont, and this was somewha
of a samhce for him. It was almost li!<e a country
inn, this quaint brewery in a remote corner of old
Pans for La Rue Blondel bore a slight resemblance
o a street m Zuricl, or Basel. A Swiss kept the
brewery, and when the door opened it was lilce a
remimscence of his boyhood to Risler. ,A Ion-
low room, hams hanging from the ceiling, hu°e
casks of beer ranged against tlie wall, and on the
counter an enormous bowl of potato-salad and a
ff.gant,c basket of pretzels, made up the scene.
1 or twenty years Risler had smoked liis pipe there :
he had h,9 own table and his own comer, where two
or three of h,s compatriots joined him, and listened
in solemn s.lence to the interminal>le but amicable
disputes of Dolobelle and Ch^.be. When Risler
„. ,„^.^ ,„„ ojjjg,.^ ueserted it also. M.

Chebe, to be sure, had excellent reasons for doin-

SIDO.yiK

80, as he now resided at too great a distance ; for,
thanks to his children's generosity, he had at last
realized the dream of his whole life.

"When I am rich," he had always said, "I
will have a little house of my own just o'^r of Paris,
and a garden that I siiall take care of myself. It
will he better for my health tlian Paris; the life here
is too excitina:."

Ah, well! he had his house and his garden,
but after all he was not amused by them. It
was at Montrouge that he resided, in a square box
of a cottage — glaringly white — with a grape-vine on
one side. Xext to him was anothci* house precisely
similar, which was occupied by the cashier, Sigis-
mond Planus, and his sister. To Madame Chcibe
these neighbors were invaluable. When the good
woman was tired of herself, she took her knitting,
and enlivened the quiet old maid with anecdotes of
past sjDlendors. Unfortunately, her husband did not
appreciate these same resources.

At first all went well. It was n Id summer, and
M. Chebe was very busy arrai^ging the house.
Each nail led to endless discussions. In the garden
it was the same thing. lie wanted the turf to bo
always green, and insisted on an orchard. "My
dear," said his wife, "you forget that time is neces-
sary for that." " True I " said the little man, and
for lack of an orchard he planted a vegetable-gar-
den. He dug and weeded morning after morning,
and wiped his brow ostentatiously, so that his wife
would say :

THE TAVERN OF TIIE RUE JiLONDEl. 85

"Rest, mj dear; you will cer;aiiily kill youi-

While thr fine weatlier lasted, the worthy people
admired the sunsets, and talke<l of the good, healthy
air. But when the autumn ruins cah.c, how dismal
tliey were I Madame Chebo a thorough Parisian,
regretted her old home, and remembered with a
pang her daily excursions t'> market.

She sat near the window, and contemplated the
dreary prospect : the rain fell in straight lines, the
vines drooped from the wall, and the dead leaves lay
in damp, sticky masses on the little path. And o
short way off was the omnibus-station, with th.
well-known names of Parisian streets painted ou
their varnished sides. Each time that one of these
omnibuses started on its return she followed it with
longing eyes, in the san. way that a convict at
Cayenne watches the vessel that sets sail for Franco
—made the journey in her imagination— knew just
where it would stop, and through which gay streets
it w^ould clumsily roll along.

Under these circumstances M. Chebe became
unendurable. He had no one to listen to his long
stories, no new listener to the history of the acci-
dent, "like that of the Due d'Orleans." Conse-
quently, the poor man reproached his wife.

" Your daughter has exiled us— your daughter
is ashamed of us I" For, in his indignation, the
angry man threw the whole responsibility of this
unnatural, heartless daughter on his wife. The
poor woman was happy only when she saw him

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SIDONm

start off for Paris, to narrate his wrongs to Dolo-
uelle.

This illustrious man had his own injuries, in his
turn. He had meant to form an important part of
the new menage, to organize /c'to, and to occupy
the post, m fact, of general adviser. Instead of
that, Sidonie received him very coolly, and Eisler
gave him no more invitations to the brewery ; nev-
ertheless, the actor did not complain too openly, and
when he met his old friend overwhelmed him with
flattery, for he meant to make use of him.

Tired at last of expecting the intelligent man-
ager, Dolobelle had conceived the extravagant idea
ot purchasing a theatre, and becoming a manager
himself, lie looked to Eisler for the necessL
funds. Just at this time he had found a small
theatre that was to be sold, in consequence of the
tailure of the manager. Dolobelle spoke of it to
Bisler, at first indifferently.

"It would be an excellent speculation," he said.
Risler hstened quietly, saying, "It would be a
good thing for you."

Then to a direct appeal, to which he dared not
say "No," Kislcr took refuge behind "I will so^
lerhaps " and finally uttered the unfortunate words

1 must see the estimates."

_ For eight days the old actor had figured indus-
tnously-had added up long columns, seated hi
tvyeeii two women who watched him admiringly.
Throughout the house rang the enchanting words,

M. Dolobelle is gomg to buy a theatre 1" Hi^

KktOa.

.piT^

THE TAVERN OF THE RUE BI.ONDEL.

friends on the boulevards, and at the cifea talked

that he had found some one who would furnish !.,«
with ,„oney and he was soon surrounded b^ a ir 1

J"s ear, Do not forget me, mj boy ! "

h,.»Tf ^/T''f "^'^'Ttlnng that was aske.l of him
breakfasted and dined at the cafe, wrote hi, e e«
there, and received his friends; and aire dv tvvo
needy authors had brought him ^iays fo h <<^o, eT
ing niglit." He said, "lly theatre "LT 7 \
Ill's lotfn^o !.« u 1 , •' ''"'^^''re, and ordered

mana^? ''"■""' *° '""' "^- »-'ol^<="e,

Ws Il'imat'f """''IT'' '" ^'■°^r"'^'"^' «"<! '»'>de

erv for ht • 7' *' "'"' ^^'^"^ '' '^"^ brew-
ery, for h.s friend was too busy to receive him dw-
mg office-hours. "

himfe?at"tL-'";!i1 ,','' ""'"^''^y «^^*' "^''''"ed
^miself at then- old table, called for two glasses of

beer, anti waited. Eisler did r^nt „„ ..

t, I . 1 . ivioici uiu not come; the ai^tnr-

took out his papers and read them over

tain"' SiillTf '.fP'?'"'' """«'• ^"««'^ ^-^^ eer-

n r , 1, r' "' '"""^'^'J ^"J surprised to see

Jritt^his '''"'•"? '''' *" ^''^ '"■•"• "^'^^
wntten to his sou-m-law, that mornin<- tli.f ),o

wished to have a long and 'serious con v rtti ' li h
Inm and would see him at the brewery

Jeasfof «r."Vnr' ^- ''''"'^^ ''•"■^ >'elinquished the
ease of the little cottage at Montrouge, and had

lured a shnn anA -,„< 7 • r - »°' '"'*' "aa

1.^. a.^a w.r,c-ow m la itue do Mail. Uav-

SIBONIE.

"•g done all this,, his courage forsook him, and he
was very anxious to tnow how his daa-ght^r wouM
look at the matter, particularly as th^ shop w s
more expensive than the cottage, and ,.ould besid
reqmre qu.te a sum of money to be expJea in
epau.s before they could take'possession^ tlZ
"law S"f .'■ r"°f "'' good-nature of his son-

to hun, and thus leave to Eisler the responsibility
of nmung to his wife the announcement of this
domestic ooup-d'etat.

Instead of Eisler, it was Dolobelle whom he
saw. They exammed each other, like two dogs at
he same platter. Each understood who it waTtha
the other expected.

" Is not my son-in-law here 2 » asked M. Ch^be
loobngat the papers spread out on the table and
emphasxzmg the words " my son-in-law," as if to
^cheate that Eisler belonged to him, and to no one

DololLr '^Pf''""^,'^'"' momentarily," answered
Ddobelle coolly, as he gathered up his estimates.
Then, with a theatrical, mysterious air, he added,
VV e have important business together."

<,„„ \^°^ -'"^r ^^" ''"^"•ered M. Ch^be, whose
scanty bair began to bristle, like the quills of the
fretful porcupine. He, in his turn, called for two
glasses of beer, and drew up a chair to the table.

K.sler did not appear, and the two men grew
very impatient. Each hoped that the other would
leave. At last their ill-temper could no lon<.er be

,X.r.

___r^7MnM.V OF THE RUE BLOHDEL. 89

restrained and, n"M^,v.a3 theiTw^i^T^o
was a tae,.:ed. II. Dolobelle began first : " I be"
lietre tlie fellow is moekino' me ' "

.„/'.h' " ^T "r" '"'' ^f'^ ^''"'^- ^"d «'«" the two
put then- heads together and whispered : " Risler
was close Kisler was selfish, as well as a par,eT"
They laughed at his accent and his manners. lu
Chobewent still further: "My son-in-law had be

fnd IT, °r- '' '" ""<^^ ''"'^^ ^'^ -"•'^'^ fetter
and mother, he must guard her more carefully him-
self. You understand ? " ^

"Certainly," said Dolotdle, "certainly. I am
tod too, that Sidonie is somewhat recklfss. Bu^
what could one e.xpect ? A man of that age-
Hush ! here he comes." *

Risler excused himself as well as possible but
was ev>dent y not at ease. He could not leave home
tmt. late ; bi^ wife had guests. And, all the t me
that he was speak.ng, the poor fellow was wonder!
mg to wh,ch of the two men he ought to listen

Dolobelle was generous. « You wish to talk
with each other, gentlemen. Do not let me disturb

tCpaper". '" ""^""'''^ '° ^'^'^'•' "^ have

;; The papers ! •' said the other, in amazement.

actor Th ^^^*"""^^f> yo'^ know," answered the
actor. Thereupon wth a great affectation of dis-
cretion, he turned his back.

The two others conversed at first in a low voice
but finally Ch^be'a wrath .nnl^ „. i„„ °®'

1;:

iViiJ

rcr b

e re-

BIB ON IE.

Ifii

Bh-a-ed. He did not mean to be buried alive, he

as rZ!lT \ ^^ '''"' ' *°P ' " ^P^^'^'d Chibe,
tl nt I ^l^f'^'^'-;^^^- " You forgot, sir, I think
tlut I am a merclmnt, and the son of a merchant
I hav n„ ,,pi ,_ ,^ .^ ^^^^^ ^^_^ ^^,^^^^ fault i 1 at j
If the person who exiled me from Paris-"

Here Risler enjoined silence, and lisjointed
words only were now to be distinguishe,! : " i mo2
oonvement shop_a magnificent enterprise," 1

At last, when M, Ohibe was exhausted by his
own energy, h>s son-in-law turned toward DolobeJb
w.h a s.gh. Chebe drew his chair closer, h^t he

f"k dT r ""'""""" '^^■"'" *'^' "- "eto

"Another t ^-7"''' 'r' ''■■'^ "' ^ '"'S^ified tone,
Another time, if you please." '

But M. Chebe was not to be thus rebuffed • he

ero is t^r • "t'^ ""-'"-'^'^ "^ - --k ti-
oitnf K >, i'"^ ^''"' "'"'='' "'^' buffoon can get
out of him " So he remained to watch.

Dolobe le was furious, for it was impossible to
postpone the purchase for more than a day or twl
and Kisler had just told him that on the foUow n^
moriimg he should go to SaWgny for a mol! ^

lor a month!" exclaimed M. Cliibe, agliast.
TVT n i. . '''^" '^°™e up to town every day But
M. airdiiio . is determined to have Sidonie l2?

ness, said he; "a master should always be on hand

THE TAVERN OF THE RUE BLOXDEL.

to Stand ia the breacli. AVhat if the factory should
take lire some night ? "

Finally the last omnibus bore away the trouble-
some father-in-law, and Dolobelle could speak freely
" First the prospectus," he said, not wishing to
begin with figures, and, placing his eye-glasses on
his nose, he began in this way :

^^' When we consider calmly the decrepitude into
which the theatres of France have fallen ; when we
recall the days when Moliere-" There were a good
many pages like this ; Eisler smoked and listened

Unfortunately, just at this point, the waiters be-
gan to put out the liglits. They must depart-they
would read as they went along. The actor stopped
at each street-lamp and deciphered his own figures
—so much for this— so much for that— so much for
the salary of the actors.

On this point he became eloquent. " You must
remember that we shall not have to pay our star
anything, for I, of course, will take all the first
parts ; this, therefore, is a clear saving, and just the
same as putting the money in your own pocket "

Risler did not reply ; his thoughts were evident-
ly wandering. At last Dolobelle put the question
squarely « Will you, or will you not, lend the
money ? "

" Frankly, then," answered Eisler, with a cour-
age that came as he saw the black walls of his fac-
tory before him, " I will not."

Dolobelle was stupefied; he was so certain of the
money that he could hardlv ' '"

'' I:

lievfi

ITS.

'iif: '

Hi 1.

SIDONIE,

iv.

89i''

"]S"o," continued Risler: "I sav no hpn.nuo -f •
absolute,, impossible for „.e to drwllt .T k I
will tell you why." ^ ■*■

rich^lht '',"'"'' "*"" "'^P'"''""' *''^' l^^ ^«« not
had but h tie money at his own disposal. Georo-e
and he each month drew a certain bu,„, and a he

trtriTiTdtecTJr ^""" ''^ '^ ^"- "- "^^

"It certainly would," answered the actor cran-
ddoquently, "for I should be there-" ^

To all poor Dolobelie's entreaties Risler would
only answer : " Wait two or three years ; at present
I have no nght to speculate; my nam is „Tmy

bankrupt? he continued, passionately, and then
more calmly, added: "Come to me Lin a year'
from now, and I will aid 70U if I ,>«„ A a ^
good-night. Here is Aehirat thS ^. " ^°' "'^'^
It was after two o'clock when the actor reached

and M..dame Dolobelle held her bi<. scissors wTfh
«hng hands. The birds on the tlwZZZt

wi iTer r " -"'^''r '' ^"P^ "^<^ '-«■-'» t"l
witn uei Jite-givmg fingers.

Madame Dolobelle watched the clock "Ah I "

THE TAVERN- OF Tn E^nUEBLOKLm. 93

"lie will, I am sure-M. Eisler is so kind-
Lcarted; and thca Sidonie loves us dearlv, thou-.h
SM,ce her u,arriage she has seen.ed to .;ogleet Z,.
We mnst take ..ito consideration the great diiferenco
m our positions; but I shall never forget all she Las
done for m^."

and what Sidonie liad done, but lier thoughts a^ain
wandered to her husband.

"If your fatlier sliould liave a theatre lie would
play every night, as he did when you were little—
you do not remember it, but at Alenjon he had an
immense success. Ah ! how handsome and .^ay he
was in those days ! but misfortune has sadly champed
him, and yet I feel that a little happiness and fr'ee-
com from care would make him quite young again
At Alen§on the manager had a carriage-just think
of our having a carriage ! it would be such a good
thing for you, my dear I you could go out every
day and drive into the country; you could see the
water, and the trees — "

The little lame girl drew a long breath. At
this moment the door below shut violently, and M
Mobelle's heavy step was heard on the staircase.'
ihe two women dared not look at each other

The poor fellow had certainly received a cruel
blow. Ihe humiliation of a refusal, the ridicule of
his associates, the debt that he had incurred at the
c^e all weighed on his soul as he slowly mounted
the long flights of stairs. His heart was nearly

nrnk-<in hnf fln/% A^. j.«_ «... ^

J •-'ttu LXiC

mscmct was so strong in

BIB OKIE.

nature
^„. 1 * """ ^^^^ ^iis laie 01 woe in n

natura manner. He entered, looked about l.te at

the table covered witb work, at his little sur,r,e" i„

ho corner, at the two anxious faces. Then ,e took

tlu-ee steps forward, waited a full mi„ute-a d you

"I nm doomed to eternal perdition ! " he hissed

between his set teeth. And he gave the taUe a tre

mendous thump with his closed Ist-so t em nd s"

that the poor little birds and beetles flew aCto

he four corners of the roon,. His terrihed wife

hair n Z: r' r'"' ^'"""^ ^^" ^°- ''•- 1-
cnair m mute distress.

The actor threw back his Lead, permitted hia
arms to fall limp and lifeless at his fid^wdt e
began a d.smal n.onologue, inten-uptcd by sighs and
^obs, by threats and imprecations agaiust^the" Ifeh
^«m„,« for whose benefit the f^e artist poured
out lus hfe-blood. Then he lightly sketched his
whole life: the triumphs of his d^ut, his success
at Alenjoii, his marriage to the " sainted woman "-'-
and he pomted a trembling linger at the poor creat-
ure who stood bathed in tears, nodding a weak as-
sent to each one of her husband's propositions. He
recalled h.s arrival in Paris, dwelt on l.is misery and
pnvat,ons. Alas ! he had not endured man v, as
one could see who turned from the picture he" pre-
sented of well-dressed comfort, to the two frail
worn bemgs at his side. '

THE TAVERN OF THE RUE BLOXDEL.

_ 93

"Ah 1 » he contin.,cd,"^^fo7fifi^7^~r;;;;:;

fouglit and .struggled ; for fifteen years I have owed
every mo„thf,.l I have ewallowod to the exertions of
these two angels ! "

"Dear father! » eried De8ir,?e, pleadingly.
\es, every mouthful! nor am I ashamed to
confess it, smce the saoritiees that they have made
have heen la.d on the altar of my sacred art. But
now all IS over ; I renounce my vocation I "

Ills wife uttered a little shriek. « What arn
you saying ? » she cried.

"leave me to my misery ! " he answered, in so-
pulchral tones. " My strength is gone; I ean ndure
this unequal contest no longer."

Could you then have seen the two pale women im-
plore h.m w,th tears and embraces to still cherish the
hopes that had been his sole joy ; could you have heard
then, e t,e,t !,;,„ ^o have courage and struggle yet
a little onger, you would have wept with them.

At last he made the asked-for concession, and
promised them not to despair, not to take any do^
perate steps ; and fifteen minutes later our comedian
was seated at the table eating his supper wth an
excellent appetite-an appetite improved possibly Z
h.s exertions, and by the sympathy of !,., little id
Uy. ihe only indications of the stormy hour he had
passed were to be found in a certain iLtud com-
mon to all great actors who have played a Ion. and
dramatic rMe. D&r.^e and her mother ^ddf

tr.irdS±r-' ^- *^^ -- «^-^ ^^^

■J

CHAPTER ly.

AT SA\^GNY.

It was most unfortunate that Sidonie and George
ever found themselves top^ether again at Savigny.
The trees that had lieard liis vows and protestattons
two short years before still stood there, and, as their
leaves rustled in the wind, seemed to laugh at his
inconstancy. As to Claire, she had never^been so
happy ; her child walked on the turf which her own
feet had trod at the same age. She looked about
her in serene content, and thanked God in her heart
that he had placed her in so fair a world, and poured
so many blessings upon her. Sidonie was in a very
different frame of mind: she declared that the
child's noise fatigued her, and appealed to M. Gar-
dinois to know if children were not always bores.
He laughingly told her that he had never heard of
but one who was not. Sidonie was caressed and
flattered by the old man to her heart's content.
The carriages, that had been shut up for so many
months that the spiders had woven their webs over
the silk cushions, were now brought out and placed
at her disposal. She drove out two or three times
each day. Every one in the house followed the gay

^ T SA riaiTY.

cxan.ple : tl.e jjnn wTlrb,.,,er care .Tl^TT"
p.-B Leeause M.ula.ue Kisl.r wild , t '':::

sclf'^rr";";^' ^''"''■•^ "-"-^ -""I-e'le-I to excuse her-
s<-ii I the last moment, ami nllnw ^- 1 • .

alone to tl.e station to .n^et h ''ieil'":. 1''
- -a f o,u tl,e cit, i„ tl.e aUoZZ ^l^Z
me," Claire woulii sav "niv ,.i -ri • •'-''ti'oo

Leeds me." ^ ' ^ ''"'^ " ""' ^^-"H- "nd

Then Sidonie, M'ith tli'^ nir .^^ o 7 ,

would seat herself' in il.::^^:^^/"^
tlio coachman to drive like the IZV , ^f
-mpped i. her soft laces, 'w. 1 e eves In f'l 1'

heard tr J;Y™^"^-f '-' *'- -station, and Sidonio

i. 1 1 o"'^'-^i pitasuie the murmnr fl.nf

greeted her apiKvaranco " Tf • ""''""r that

an;r:is?:trtt:i:v^::';!";if"it"

ga, little woman looK-cd certai.:,;r?f . ^e^ftS
v.feof the elegant man at her side • whil^ 7?L
opposite, sedate and calm, looted as if l' tw d
to a different world. uciongea

^Vbile the diatoaii "-"-^ +i -- ^

-xiatt^iii .,«c tiiua cransioi-med bj the

f||

.IP

If'-

SID OX 17.

caprices of a young woman, old Gardinois looked
on quietly. He was of an extremely inquisitive
nature, believing that " knowledge is power." He
spared no pains to get at a secret whenever and
wherever he suspected one; he had always been
more or less of a spy. The goings and doings of
his servants interested him hugely ; not a basket of
vegetables came into his kitchen without a prelimi-
nary examination from himself. He took the great-
est pleasure in finding fault, and in bringing up an
offender to justice. All this gave him some occu-
pation, and served him again in the evening, when
he repeated all the morning occurrences to his
guests.

In order to carry out his plans of constant sur-
veillance over his people, he spent the greater part
of his days seated on a bench near the entrance to
the grounds, where he could see every one who
came in or out. At night he had invented another
arrangement : he had an acoustic tube i^laced in the
vestibule, and leading to his bedroom just above;
in this w^ay he thought he should hear every w^his-
per uttered on the balcony and on the wide stone
steps.

Unhappily, this arrangement, perfect as it was,
exaggerated the sounds — confused and prolonged
them; and sometimes, when M. Gardinois put his
ear to the tube, he could hear nothing but a shrill
scream from the parrot on his perch, or the loud
ticking of the clock, and the voices reached him only

in a confused buzz. So hp nbnnrlnnArl flija inTT^i.f;^,^

AT 8A VIGNY.

and it lay nearly iovQon^^i^^^^^^^^^^~^
curtains.

One night tLe old man was aronsed, just as ho
was falhng ,nto his first sleep, by the crcal: of a

retired _ Ihe old man bad a happy thcght. Wlien
conld Ins tube be nsed to better advantage? lie
placed lus ear to its mouth. He was right; first
one door was gently opened and shut ; then the
Cham on the larger hall-door slightly rattled. " B„t
why do not the dogs bark?" Gardinois muttered
to himself. "I thought so!''_and, drawing his
curtains slightly aside, he looked out.

A tall, masculine form stood below, with his arm
thrown around a slender figure, all wrapp . _. i„ shawls
and laces. It was a glorious summer night; soft,
fieecy clouds floated over the full moon ; tli^ blue
depths of the lake slept widisturbed by a sinMe
ripple; and here and there in the deep shadows
glittered tae greenish splendor of a fire-%.

With cautious steps the pair stole down the
avenue, and were quickly hidden by intervening
trees from the inquisitive eyes above.

"I thought so!" repeated old Gardinois, who
knew dioni-as well he might, for he had had his
suspicions for some little time ; and now, full of tri-
umph, the old man returned to his couch

The temptation of Sidonie's constan't presence
had been too much for George's weak nature. Ho
adored her now with a mad and reckless oassinn.
i'or iier sake he deceived his wife-his best'friend

W p'l

oMm^ ^^^^^^^1

100

SID ONI E.

He deceived Risler, liis partner, his faithful adviser,
and constant companion. Sidonie became his ever-
present thought, and he reah'zed that he had never
loved until then. As to her, her love like herself was
full of vain triumphs. Ah ! if she could but have
said to Claire, "He loves me— me alone ! " her hap-
piness would have been far greater. As to Risler,
she said to herself with a shrug of her shoulders, and
in her shop-girl jargon, " What could he expect, an
old fellow like that, whom I only married for his
money ? "

! M

ili'J

CHAPTER y.

SIOISMONI, PLA^VUS'S FEAES FOE ms CASn-ACCOUNT.

mge ? smcl Kisler, :n a tone of profound amaze-

" I assure yon," answered George,, uneasily, " that
one .s absolutely indispensable. The eou/s is no
nffleient Onr business relations are daily extend
mg ; and, besides, it is really not the thing fo"! one
of the firm always going about on foot, and the other
in h,s carnage. It does not look well, I assure you.
It IS a necessary expense, and I shall so consider it,
and enter it among the expenditures of the firm • so
you may as well make up your mind to it "

It seemed to Risler as if this new expense was a
robb ry .f some one ; but, as George wa^ so urgent,
he felt himself compelled to yield; thinking, besides
" How happy Sidonie will be ! " '

^■J^^ T°I r° ?''^ ""' know that a month before
Sidonie had herself chosen a eonj>S which George
eould no present to her openly, and had consequel

pUcliTe *''' """'^"""^ "^"'°<^ °f "<3™4 its
Eislor was easily deceived. Frank and honest

103

siLoxm

•is

himself, lie never suspected duplicity in others. At
this time his attention war totally absorbed by his
new invention, with which he hoped to revolutionize
the manufacture of wall-papers. Thoughtful and
anxious, he entered his home for dinner, and was
too thankful to be received with smiles. He did
not ask himself the reason of this change, nor yet
wiiy Sidonie never nowadays made any objection to
his spending an occasional evening at the brewery.
Their home, too, grew daily prettier, and comfort
had given place to luxury. The simple jardinieres
had departed, and Sidonic now cared only for the
latest caprices of the day— old carvings and rare
china. Her boudoir was hung with a delicate shade
of blue, the silk quilted in diamonds like the lining
of a jewel-casket. A grand piano stood in the
drawing-room instead of the old one, and the sing-
ing-lesson was a daily affair.

Madame Dobson, the teacher, was an American,
whose lemon-colored hair was parted over a high
forehead. Her husband prevented her from goino-
on the stage, but she gave lessons and sang at private
concerts. In spite of her steel-blue eyes and sharp
features, she had a languishing, sentimental air that
was positively exasperating. Uttered by her lips,
the words love and passion seemed to have twenty
syllables, and to be indefinitely prolonged ; and Ma-
dnme Dobson would raise her eyes to the ceilino-
with the expression of a dying swan. To this poi t
Sidonie never arrived, though she made conscien-
tious efforts m that direction.

Her full

• 1 '

VTTkQ iTTMn

2. i.jj\^ ix L;«

SIGIS^rOND PLANUS \^ CASIJ-ACCOUXT. 103

and mischievous ejes were never made for such sen-
timentalities. Offenbach or Ilerve, wliose music
8he could have aided by a gesture, a nod of the
head, or an arm akimbo, would have suited her
mucli better, but she dared not make such an iVno-
niimous avowal. Sidonie, without intimate friends
or relations, had by degrees made a friend of her
music-mistress. She kept her to luncheon, took her
to drive with her in the new couj^e, and asked her
aid in her shoppiiig-exciirsions. The sentimental
and sympathizing tone of Madame Dobson won her
confidence. Sidonie spoke to her of Geoi-e of
their love, and excused herself for her infidehty to
her husband by complaining of the crueltv of her
parents, who had compelled her to marry him
though he was so much older than herself. Ma-
dame Dobson was willing to aid her, not so much
from hick of principle as from a desire for excite-
ment and a romance. In her opinion, all husbands
were tyrants; for she herself, poor little woman I
was married to a dentist, who amused himself by
beating her whenever he was out of temi)er with
the world or himself. Two or three times each
week she brought Sidonie tickets for the theatre
or for the opera. Kisler supposed they were pre-
sented to the music-teacher; little did he know that
(^eorge had requested her to purchase them, and
that the tickets were not for seats, but represented
the best private boxes in the house.

To deceive a man like Risler required but little
c-uuity. His credulity was boundless. Besides,

ill

Iff't

104

SIDONIE.

he knew nothing of the world in wliicli his wife
was already only too well known, lie never went
with her. Occasionally, in the early days of their
married life, he had taken her to witness a new
play, but had himself slept peacefully throughout
the evening. Not enjoying the theatre, he was
only glad to relinquish his seat tc Madame Dobson.
Evening after evening, when his wife left him,
he would frankly express his admiration at her
superb toilets, not having the least idea of their
expense or the source whence they came, and then,
with a heart free from jealousy or doubt, spend tho
evening in solitude over his drawings.

Below, in the Fremont apartments, the same
farce was enacted — but the roles were reversed.
There it was the wife who was deserted. Each
evening, a half-hour before Sidonie's departure, M.
Fremont's coupe came to the door to take George
to the club. Claire was told that many an impor-
tant business-affair had been brought to a prosperous
conclusion over a game of billiards. And she, poor
child ! believed that only the interests of the firm
could take him away from his home so constantly.
Her spirits flagged for a time after he went out, for
each night she hoped to retain him, or that he would
propose that she should go to some place of amuse-
ment with him. But the loving arms of her child
soon took the slight ache from her heart.

George and Sidonie met at the theatre. Their
first heart-throb was one of vanity, for they attracted
much attention. She was very pretty, and each new

8TOISM0ND PLANUSES CASH-ACCOUNT. 105

caprice of fasliion seemed to liave been invented to
lend a fresh charm to her coquettish face. Before
long Madame Dobson was left the sole occupant of
the box at the theatre, and Siaonie with George
sallied forth in search of adventures. With un-
paralleled audacity they visited ballrooms and restau-
rants most frequented by the demi-monde, in re-
gard to which class Sidonie felt a morbid curiosity

From these excursions, Sidonie, who seemed
actuated by a determination to make amends for the
enforced monotony of her girlhood by a series of ex-
travagances and excitements, returned to her hour^
geois home with odd phrases and gestures, and new
ideas for her toilet, which seemed strangely out of
place in that quiet spot.

Doubts and suspicions were beginning to be ex-
cited in regard to her within the manufactory-walls
Women, even the poorest and most menial of their
sex, have an instinctive perception of the cost of a
feminine costume. When Madame Risler went out
every afternoon about three, fifty pair of curious
eyes scanned her enviously from the huge windows
of the factory. These sharp eyes penetrated her
velvet coat and her cuirass of jet, and detected the
gudty conscience they covered. The operatives
laughed contemptuously as they looked. "She
does not put on those tine clothes to go to church ' "
*' And," said another, "it is not more than three
years since she used to go out with a water-proof
cloak, and two cents' worth of chestnuts in her

l^^i. i._ 1

W^Xi-CL, tO

Keep ner irom starving I " And, in the

106

SID OKIE.

dust and turmoil of those hot rooms, more tlian one
poor girl thought of the strange chance that had so
transformed the life of this woman, and began to
dream vaguely of possibilities for Iierself.

All this little world regarded Pusler as grossly
deceived by his wife. Some one professed to have
seen madame at the theatre, accom])aiiied by a gen-
tleman, who carefully secluded himself from obser-
vation in the back of the box. Achille, too, had
wonderful tales to tell, foi- the old gardener did not
love Madame Eisler. That Sidonie had admirers
or even several, all these peoj)le were quite prepared
to believe ; but, oddly enough, no one as yet had
connected her name with that of George.

And yet Sidonie was anything but cautious in
her relations with him. In fact, a certain ostenta-
tious bravado characterized them. Many a time
had she stopped him on the staircase, to make
some arrangement for the evening, and had often
sadly disturbed his nerves by whispering to him
before the whole of tliem. The first shock over,
George was amused, and looked upon these impru-
dences as a proof of the strength of her passion. In
this notion, however, he deceived himself greatly."

The simple truth was, that Sidonie was deter-
mined to arouse Claii-e's jealousy and suspicions.
All her efforts in this direction were useless: Claire
saw nothing, suspected nothing ; her own pure na-
ture and innocent heart, like Eisler's, remained un-
disturbed.

Sigismond, the cashier, was the only one whose

siam roxD pljnus^s cash-accouxt. 107

iij

peace was troubled. 13at it was not of Siclonie that
lie tliought, as he sat looking out on the little
garden, with eyes that saw not. He thought of his
master and of the enormous sums he was spendino-.
' Have you a little money for me to-day, Planus''^
I was thoroughly cleaned out at cards last ni<.ht "
And Planus would open his safe with a groan as he
thought of the day when the young man came to his
uncle to confess some enormous gam])ling-debts.
buddenly the good man conceived a violent hatred
for the club and all its members. One of them be-
ing m the office one day, Planus expressed this ha-
tred m very strong terms :

"Confound your club ! In the last two months
JM. (reorge has wasted thousands there ! "

The other laughed. " Thousands indeed ! " he
said ; " why, we have not seen him there for cer-
tamly three months." The cashier said not another
word, but a terrible fear bad taken possession of
his heart. If George did not go to the club, where
did he pass his evenings, and how did he spend so
much money? Evidently there was some woman
connected with this mystery.

And, with this interpretation, Sigismond feared
more than ever for his dear cash-box, for to this old
b^Vlss all women w>re appalling, more particularly
a Parisian. His first duty evidently was to warn
jLtisjer.

" M. George spends a good deal of money " said
ne, one day. " '

But Kisler was not dIsrmiofo(i « wi,„* j

108

SIDON-m

Wish me to do about it, Sigismond ? lie lias surely
the right to do as he pleases with his own I "

And the good fellow thought as he spoke. In
his eyes young Fremont was the absolute master of
the house and he himself only a designer connected
M'lth It. Ihe cashier said no more, until one day
a bill came for a thousand-dollar caslimere shawl
He went to George. "Am I to pay this, sir ? " he
asked. George Fremont was a little startled : Sidonie
had forgotten to advise him of this new purchase.

" Pay it— pay it, Planus," he said, in some em-
barrassment; "you will pass it to my private ac
count It IS a commission that I executed for a
mend."

That evening, just as Sigismond was lighting his
lamp he saw Risler passing through the garden, and
called him. " It is a woman," he said, in a hoarse
whisper " and I have the proof of it ; " and the poor
cashier felt that the manufactory was on the hi<.h.
road to destruction—all for a woman. ^

Eisler laughed, and refused to believe it He
knew this old mania of the cashier's, who always at-
tributed all misfortunes to the evil influence of the
sex^^ Nevertheless the words of his friend returned
to Kisler m the evening, as he sat alone after Side-
nie s departure with Madame Dobson. The room
looked strangely empty. Candles burned in front
of the mirror, a forgotten bouquet lay on a chair
and a thousand expensive trifles were thrown care-
ess ly about. Kisler saw nothing of this, but, when
he heard George's oouj^e roll away, he felt a cold

SIOISMOND PLAXUS^S CAS/I-ACCOCXT.

109

ciiill at his heart as he thouglit of the soh'tary wife
on the floor helow. " Poor thing! if what rianus
said 3s truc-if Georg is faithless to her-oh, it
would bo terrible 1"

Then, instead of going to work, he went down-
stairs to ask if Madame Georire was visil)le, for he
thought it his duty to stay with Iier awhile.

The little girl had gone to bed, but a pair of
small blue shoes lay on the hearth-rug, with some
playthings. Claire was reading, while near her sat her
mother, occupied in rubbing her watch, breathino. on
the crystal and wiping it. Kisler was not the liveliest
companion in the world, but Claire received him with
the greatest cordiality. She knew all that was said of
Sidonie, and, though she did not believe the half of
it, she yet felt the most profound compassion for
this man, whose wife left him so often in solitude.
A mutual pity drew these two kind hearts together^
and nothing could have been more touching than to
see each consoling the other. Seated at this little
table, Eisler was very happy ; the genial warmth
of the fire, the sight of the furniture that for twenty
years he had known so familiarly, the portrait of his
old master, and his dear Madame George bending
over her sewing, seeming younger and lovelier than
ever, among these old surroundings— all seemed to
render the doubts suggested by Planus alike improb-
able and fantastic. Occasionally she rose to go into
the next room to look at her sleeping child. With-
out knowing precisely why, Risler found it more
asrreeable in thpsprnnmaflnQr! i^ i,;^ . £

, i,

110

STDOiVTE.

times liis apartments seemed like a place where his
wife came to make a h^^ str i for gome now scene
^f ^'^yety. Thtu- it wat lu^. an encampment, hero
like a liome ; a careful hand an.,^ wateliful eye main-
tained order and nlc .^anoe. The chairs were dispuscl
at the right angles ; tL^ fire burned with a clear
flame and pleasant n-^i^e ; while ttie baby'.s half worn
shoo brought a choking «(„.■ cation to his throat.

Tlius, while Claire compassionated this kind,
good soul, who merited a bettor wife, Eisler, ab-
sorbed in admiration of her gentle ways and tender
eyes that looked on him so kindly, asked himself if
it were possible that George could be so foolish as
to tiro of such a charming companion.

CHAPTER VL

6T0CK-TAKIN0.

_ The honso it Jlontruuge occupied by tlio cash-
ier Planus was next the one vacated by M. Chebe.
1 lanus hverl there with his sister. Ho toolc the
early ominUus to town every mominj., and returned
homo to a late dinner. On S„ .days he watered his
flowei-s tied up his vines, and fed liis poultry. His
B.stcr kept the house, and sowed. Xeither had
married, and both entertained a like horror of tho
opposite sex, regarding each other as the only ones
to bo trusted, and as the great exception to the -.en-
era! ruJo. *

In the eyes of these timid natures, Paris was in-
Habited by monsters, who were busy only with evil •
and, when the tidings of some one of those miser:
ao e conjugal dramas penetrated to their seclusion,
Mademoiselle Planus would say: "What can one
expect 2 It is all the fault of the husband ! " while
■■^i^Jsmond would groan, " Women-women > "

tl,« ,°^^"'^ 'i"l' *'■"' *' discussions between
the brother and sister had been singularly lively
Mademoiselle Planus pitied Claire, Tnd wondered

at ner husband's nesrlect! whilA H, . onoi,;.^ __.._,

ttl

"sg?!

113

SIDONIE.

iiiul no words to express his indiVnation at the un-
Iviiown person wJio had drawn the price of a thou-
sand-dollar cashmere from his iron safe. "What
will become of us if this goes on ?" he said, indig-
nantly; for he had at heart the honor and well-
being of the firm, whei't he had been for so many
years.

One day Mademoiselle Planus sat knitting by
the fire. She was becoming anxious, as her brother
was an hour later than usual. The door opened,
and he came and took a seat without speaking!
This being contrary to his usual habit, his sister
looked at him in terror.

" I know," he said, hoarsely, " who the woman
is who means to ruin us ! " and then, in a whisper,
he uttered a name so unexpected that his sister
begged him to repeat it two or three times over be-
fore she was quite sure that she understood it.

" It is impossible ! " she cried.

" It is true ! " said he, in a tone half of grief
and half of triumph. Thereupon he related how
old Achille had seen Sidonie and George, as they
came out from a restaurant together, and the man
never lied. Besides, other people knew other things.
In fact, no one at the factory was in ignorance save
Eisler himself.

" But you must tell him," said his sister.

The cashier hesitated. " It is a most delicate
affair. He would not believe me ; and then, be-
tween the two partners, I should lose my situation I
And Risler might have been so happy if he had

wmsr

STOCK-TAKma.

118

not married ! When he ^^^^^IZ^I^^^^^^

tad not a cent, and now be is at the head of one of

I>e most substantial firms in Paris. Wh„t need

.ad he of a wife ? And then nothing would do for

t'loth T .^^-^•''~— y one of Si:
« enough to rum a man-and now where are
we % Every day I must hand out money to M
George. I have warned Risler over and over again'
^1 o no pmpose. Eisler shrugs his shoulders°and
2^' T^. " ™y affair! ' He will sing another

Ztl T\ "'''''' ''°^'^^«'--" And the cashier re-
iapsed into silence.

His sister was overwhelmed with consternation.

Chebe was their neighbor-she was such a thor-
oughly honorable woman-and she could have
spoken to Sidonie ! " ^

" That is a good idea," cried Sigismond. « To-
morrow you had better call on her. I thou<.lit of
writing to Frantz; he has always had mdiMu
ence over his brother, and is really the only perso„
who wouldever dare to tell hifn certain'^;"
But Frantz is so far off, and it would take him so
long to get here ! Poor Kisler! I am sorry for
J^™. No ; the best way is to warn Madame Cli^be
and you must do that." '

This commission was of so unpleasant a nature

hat his sister rebelled, but finally eonsented-fim

because she rarely resisted her broLr, and secondly

became she had a real desire to snrvB T?i.l„„ ^

iJianks to his son-m-law's generosity, M. Chdbe

|4 £,1

114

siDoxm

had been able to gratify his last fancy. For three
months he had been installed in his empty shop,
throwing the whole neighborhood into a state of
wonder, as they saw the shutters taken down every
morning, and as carefully put up at night as if the
shelves had been covered with the rarest and most
precious goods. A new counter and show-case, with
a set of glittering scales, were all that was to be
seen. In short, M. Chebe had not yet made up his
mind what branch of trade he should select !

He thought of it all day long, as he F^ood in his
doorway with his pen behind his ear. The noise of
the street, the hurry, and the bustle, enchanted the
little man. He watched the unloading of the huge
bales at the shop near by, and amused himself in
wondering what their contents could be; and he
went to bed at night exhausted with the superin-
tendence of the labors of others, and said to his
wife as he wiped his forehead, " Yes, this active
life is just what I needed ! "

Madame Chebe smiled gently, but made no re-
ply. Worn out with her husband's caprices, she
quietly settled herself in the back-shop that looked
out on a dark court, arranged her household gods as
best sh.e could about her, and consoled herself by
thinking of her former prosperity, of her girlhood,
and of her daughter, and, always M^ell dressed and
industrious, soon earned the respect and liking of
the neighborhood. Her room was always exquisite-
ly clean. During the day the bed had the look of a

screen concealed the cooking-uten-

^rw^t r\ r\ « J

UliU

STOCK-TAKING.

1 15

sils in the corner. The^r woman was th^M
for a httle peace and quiet, and l.oped that her hus-
band would long be as contented as at present.

• • ■ i , ""^ °''^' ^"' <^°°'' tlie sign "Com-
mission Merchant ; " but he made no mention of Z

silk , and laces; he was disposed to sell any or al
of these. « To be sure," he said to his wifef '"l do
not know much about linens; but, as regards silks,
I am perfectly at home. But, to be successful, i
ought to employ a traveling-agent. But I will sleep

After three or four months of this existence M
Cbebe began to find it sligljtly monotonous. The
old pain m h,s head returned by degrees. The street
was unhe. thful ; besides, there was no trade there
It was ,n the height of these complaints that Made!
moiseile Planus made her visit. The simple old

street "I w,ll break it to them by degrees." But,
like all timid natures, she disembarrassed herself of
her burden as soon as she entered the doors. Ma-
dame Chebe rose in her wrath-she had never heard
anything to equal this. Her poor Sidonie to be the
victim of frightful calumnies like these I

M. Chebe took an equally high position. How
dared any one come to him with such slanders?
llow could any one suppose that his daughter, the
cJii d of an honorable merchant, could be guilty of
such conduct? ° •'

Mademoiselle Planus shook her head sadly, but

116

BID ON m

insisted on the truth of her words. They refused to
listen, and regarded her as a gossip, a bringer of
evil reports.

" But," said the poor little woman, " every one
knows it at the factory ; and if you would represent
to her — "

" What ? " interrupted M. Chebe, violently, fu-
rious at her persistence. " What shall I represent
to Sidonie? She is married, and lives away from
us. It is for her husband, who has both age and
experience, to advise her and control her. Go to
him, if you choose ! "

And here the little man went off into long com-
plaints of his son-in-law, the stupid Swiss, who spent
his life in his office, and thought of nothing but
making money, and who would never accompany
his wife into the world, but preferred to her society
that of his pipe, and his old associates at the brew-
ery. And you should have seen the look of con-
tempt with M^hich M. Chebe uttered the words
"the brewery." His wife had grown very silent,
as incidents crowded on her memory of Sidonie's
reckless acts. AVhat would not the poor woman
have given to have been deaf, dumb, and blind?
Like every one who has been sorely disappointed in
life, she felt as if ignorance was the most desirable
thing in the world.

Mademoiselle Planus rose to go. M. Chebe
lighted a burner in his empty shop, and his wife
cried quietly in her dark back-room. When Sigis-

»< aA i w,«_» ._

8T0CK-TAKIXG.

him, and told him of her v. it, with tears in lier
eyes.

" Thej refused to believe me," she said.
Her brother patted her kindly on the shoulder'
"We did it for the best, mj dear, and for the honor
of our dear old master's firm."

From this time forth Sigismond was sad and
Bilent. His cash-box was kept very low by constant
applications for money from young Fromont. *' My
confidence is shaken," he said to himself, in a low
voice. And in the middle of the day, when he saw
bidome, in gorgeous raiment, coming down the wide
stone steps of the house, he grew hot with indio-na-
tion as he looked at her. Was it for such a mast of
frippery as that, that the honor of a great mercan-
tile house was imperiled ?

Madame Risler never suspected that in that old
cashier, behind the wire grating, was her bitterest
enemy, who watched her every act, knew the hour
that her singing-mistress arrived, and how many
times in the week her milliner and dress-maker, both
laden with boxes, appeared. Sigismond counted
the packages that came from the stores, and peered
curiously in at all the windows of the Risler apart-
ments. The rich coverings of the furniture, the
baskets of rare flowers, the tall china vases, did not
escape his observation. But he studied Kisler's face
more than anything else. Could it be possible that
this man accepted his dishonor quietly— that he
knew it ? To be sure, there was something abso-
lutely monstrous in such a supposition in regard to

118

8ID0NIE.

his friend — the best, the most generous, the most
sincere of men I But it is a singular fact tliat un-
suspicious natures, once aroused to a certainty of
evil, go afterward always too far. Once convinced
of the treason of George and Sidonie, it was easy
for the cashier to accept Risler's. Besides, how
could one understand otherwise his singular indif-
ference to the increased and enormous expenditures
of the firm ?

Sigismond had little comprehension of Ptisler's
nature. Although the latter was a thorough busi-
ness-man, he had much of the temperament of the
artist, the invent . ^Sigismond could not under-
stand that a man on the point of a wonderful dis-
covery, that would revolutionize their business, lived
entirely within himself, and had neither eyes nor
ears for anything else. Such people are like som-
nambulists — though their eyes are wide open, they
see nothing.

But in Sigismond's opinion Eisler saw all. This
false idea rendered tlie old man extremely unhappy.
He watched his friend's face whenever they were
together, and gave his own solution to each fleeting
expression; finally, discouraged by the absorption
he saw there, he turned away in disgust, busied him-
self with his papers and accounts, and hardly deigned
to answer a question.

No more pleasant little chats over the books ; no
more friendly smiles. Eisler vaguely felt the change,
and finally spoke of it to his wife. For some time

t?fc''«i«

STOCK-TAKIXG.

119

her. Sometimes, in passing tlirougli the court, she
felt annoyed at the cold, menacing glances cast upon
her by the cashier at his little window. The present
disagreement between the old friends alarmed her.
She took her measures at once.

"Do you not see," she said to her husband,
" that lie is horribly jealous of you — of your posi-
tion ? Formerly you were equals ; now you are his
superior, and he is beginning to dislike you. As to
myself, I am accustomed to that sort of thing."

Risler opened his eyes in astonishment. " You ? "
he said.

"Yes, certainly. All these people detest me,
for they do not fancy seeing * little Chebe ' elevated
to the position of your wife. Heaven knows what
hideous things they say about me — your cashier's
tongue is, I fancy, quite as long as the others. He
is a very bad man."

These words had their effect. Risler was indig-
nant, and, too proud to complain, returned coldness
for coldness. These two good men, distrusting
each other, and finding themselves uncomfortable in
each other's presence, ended by rarely meeting.

Sidonie's time was fully occupied in managing
all the details of her luxurious life. She must have
a couutry-house. To be sure, she utterly abhorred
trees and fields. " There is nothing more dreary in
the world," she said.

But Claire passed the summer at Savigny. With
the first warm weather her trunks were packed;

120

SID ON IE.

camphor; and the baby's cradle, with its blue rib-
bons, figured on the toj) of a great furniture-wa-^on
that might have been seen slowly creeping alon..
the highway m the direction of Savhrny

The family followed a few hoursla'ter, and then
Sidonie considered Paris deserted ; and, although

like a fiery furnace, she was nevertheless annoyed
and envions when she thought that all the world of
fashion were wandering by the sad sea-waves, under
huge white umbrellas.

I Sf -batl'ing ? " But Risler could not leave town,
ilien a house in the country?"

herslw"' ^ ^"^^ °°* ^''^ ™*"""'" '"''' ^'''<'°'« *°
George would have gladly come to the rescue
and at once gratified this new caprice. But a coun-
try-house is not so easily concealed as a diamond
bracelet or an India shawl. Still, Risler was of so
simple a nature that they might try the experiment
witli him iwssibly.

So, to prepare the way, his wife spoke to him
over and over again of her longing for a little place
jn the country, not too far away from Paris. Eisler
listened with a pleased smile. He thought of the
gi-een grass, of an orchard with trees loaded with
iruit; but, as he was prudent, he said: "We will
see, we will see ! Wait until the end of the year."

Ihe end of the year means so much to men of
business Then the books are all balanced, the ac-
counts all made out; and even the errand-boys in

STOCK-TAKJXO.

121

tlie cstabHsliment are interested, for on the liapi)y
results of those long columns of figures depends
perhaps, their own gift. '

Sigisniond Planus is, for the time being, master
of the situation, and the house of Froniont & Kis-
Icr hangs on his words. The old cashier has a fear-
ful air of importance, ensconced behind his iron
grating. There he sits, day after day, turning over
the heavy folios.

Young Fremont wonld come in on tiptoe, with his
cigar in his mouth. " Well, how are you getting on ? "

The sole response from Sigismond would be a
gi'oan.

^ This, George knew only too well, indicated that
thmgs were not looking very promising. In fact,
since the days of the French Revolution, when the
paving-stones of the court were torn np for a barri-
cade, no such nnsatisfactory accounts had been seen.
The general expenses had absorbed all the profits
and more, for young Fremont found that he had
overdrawn his account. He received this statement
from the cashier pleasantly enough. " Things will
be better the coming year," he said ; and, ''to re-
store the cashier to good-humor, George handed him
a much larger sum than usual as a New-Year's gift,
and bade him say nothing to Risler. "I will tell
him myself," added George.

"When he entered the little office, lighted from
above like a studio, and saw his partner bending
over his drawing, George had a moment of shame

aiiu. ilCtJiLULlUU,

' :.*■-

123

SID ox IE.

"Is that you?" cried Risler, gavly. "My in
vention is nearly perfected, and it will not be'lon-
before, with its aid, we shall distance all competitors °

" That is all very well for the future," answered
Fromont, " but of the present you do not seem to
think."

" True-true," said liisler ; « and these accounts,
how are they ? ]>^ot very satisfactory, I imagine."

He said this because he discovered in George's
face an expression of annoyance.

*' Extremely so," answered the young man, « for
the first year : we have each of us made a handsome
sum; and, as I thought you might want some
money to-day to purchajse some gift for your wife—"
and, without looking at the honest man, upon whom
he was thus imposing, George laid upon the table a
pue of bank-notes and of gold.

Risler was for a brief moment quite delighted.
All that money for him-for him alone ? He thought
^rst of the liberality of these Fromonts, who had
done so much for him, and then of his little Sidonie
whose often-expressed wish he could now venture to
gratify. Tears rose to his eyes ; a sweet and tender
smile hovered on his lips; he extended both hands
to his partner.

« I am happy-very happy ! " he murmured.-
Ihis was his phrase on all great occasions.— Then
rusthng the crisp notes before him, he said • '' Do'
you know whtit these are ? A country-house for
bidonie " And the good man smiled with an air of
triumph.

CHAPTEK YII.

A LETTER.

" Toll. Fbantz Rblee, Engineer of La Comjyagnie
J'rangatse, Ismailia, Egypt.

" Frantz my bo.y, it is olj Sigismond who writea
to you,_to tell yoii, very .abruptly, that strange thin-^s
are going on ,n your brother's house. His wife
c'ece.ves him grossly, and the end will be that the
'.vorld will regard him as a rascal. You must come
at once ; no one but yourself can make your brother
do what he ought to do without delay. His friends
here he will not believe. You have no time to lose
and must come home immediately. I know that
you are earnmg your daily bread, that you have
your future to create; but I know, too, that the
honor of the name bequeathed to you bv vour
parents .s of more importance in your eyes fhan

earnes , that ,f you are not here soon, your name
of itisler will be shamed and disgraced 1

"SlGISlt02JD PlaKUS."

BOOK III.

CHAPTER I.

THE AVENOEE.

_ Those persons wliose lives are sedentary, cither
from inhrmities or from tlie nature of tiieir daily
abors, become interested in the opposite windows
and m the passers-by, to a degree that is not easily
understood by those whose existences are of a totally
clitterent character. "^

Madame Dolobelle and her daughter lived a
vei^y secluded life, and had, therefore, learned to
teel a keen mterest in the outside world that flowed
on through their little street with a certain reo-u-
imty. As the window was small, the motliCT
whose eyes were growing dim from advancing
years and constant labor, sat nearest it, close behind
the mushn curtains ; her daughter's ann-clmir was a
httle farther off, and the mother announced each
passer-by : this gave food for much discussion, and
shortened the long hours. There were two young
sisters ; a gentleman in a gray coat ; a child attended
by a servant, on its way to and from school. If it

THE A VEXGER.

225

rained, AFadaine Dolobello would lament: "Tlioy
will certainly bo wet I They will not get in be-
fore the sliower ! "

And when the flpring sun shone in all :.., glory,
or the snow whitened the pavements in December,
they only knew the chango of the season by some
new article ( f dress worn by one of their friends.

Kow, on a certain day of which we write, the
air was soft and mild ; every one seemed to be
anxious to bo out-of-doors; every window was
thrown wide open. Desirec and her mother, how-
ever, only sewed the faster, as they wished to make
use of each ray of daylight. The voices of children
playing in the street, the jingle of pian s, and the
cries of some little merchant vaunting his goods,
filled the air with an indefinable sense of sprints'
Madame -Dolobelle at last put down her work, and
stood at the window in the gathering darkness.
"There is M. Sigismond! How early he leaves
the factory to-night ! The days are long now, how-
ever, and it must be after eight o'clock. Who is it
with him ? " she continued, to her daughter, without
turning around. " Can it be— Yes, it certainly is
Frantz ! Look, my child ! "

But the joung girl did not move; her eves were
fixed, and her hands fell at her side. Per thoughts
had taken wing to a far-distant land. The very
name of Frantz, pronounced so carelessly by her
mother, in consequence of a fancied resemblance
borne by some stranger, was to her like throwing
wide open the port-als of her past and of her fu-

Av\

136

SWONIE.

ture. Hopes, as fleeting as the color on her cheeks
came to whisper delusive words in her ear. She
remembered, too, how in days that seemed so far
away she had learned to know his step on the
Bta>r ; to hear him as he drew his table nearer to the
Window. Alas! what quiet pain she had suffered,
as he sat there on that low chair, and talked of
bidomo ! The very tone of his voice returned to
her; the soft and tender look in his eyes, as he
spoke of h,s future h.appiness. The young girl's
heart grew rery heavy. The gathering darkness
left only the square of the open window visible,
near which st.U sat her mother. Suddenly the door
opened: some one was there, though no one was to
be d,st.ngmshed. The Dolobelles rarely had visitors,
and the mother thought it was some one from tl eir
employers.

"My husband has just taken our work aome,"
Baid Madame Dolobelle. '

_ The man came forward, still silent ; the last
famt rays of light from the window fell upon his
bronzed face and long, light beard.

^1 Do yon not know me ? " said a familiar voice.
I knew you at once," answered D&iree, in a
cold and measured tone.

T1.l'?r*^ ^^''^"'"'' '* '■' ^'•""'^••" ""-^d Madame
Dolobelle, runnmg to light her lamp. "And you

havecome back to yonr old friends !-D&ir<Se, what
aniccleyouare! Why do you not tell him how
glad you are to see him again ? »

An icicle, indeed ! and she was as white as one,

Tns A VEXOER.

127

while the little hand, now heidb^^^;:^;;;;;;;;;;;;;^^

as snow He thought her prettier than ever, while
sne looked up at his tall iinu-e, full of ad.niratioa
for his height and strength ; but in his eyes she
read a new expression, o.ie of sadness and anxiety.

Ih.s anxiety came from Sigisniond's letter, which
had brought him at once. He came without wait-
ing for permission from his employers, thus risking
the loss of his position. His sadness was of an ear
her date, and took possession of his whole nature at
the time when the woman who had refused to marry
him became the wife of his brother. It is true that
hefore this marriage Eisler had written to ask per-
mission to be happy, and that in words so touching
and so tender, that the violence of the blow was
somewhat softened; but the wound was, neverthe-
less, very deep, and Frantz threw himself with vio-

r!l/"/° ^^ P!-°f';^^i°"> «nd hoped, by breathless
toil all day, to win sleep and forgetfulness at night.
J^'it, m the anger and indignation that he now feels
against his_ brother's faithless wife, there lingers no
trace of his former love-contempt has taken its
place It was not as a lover, but as an avenger,
that he came, and Sidonie must be on her guard!
Instantly on his arrival the young man went to the
mannfaetory, but no one was there. The shutters
of the house at the end of the garden had been
closed for two weeks. The gardener, Aehille, in-
formed him that the two ladies were in the country
and that their respective husbands went out of town
,■ —^..v, a. ^«^.,^ uwiuuu ro speak to bigismond.

128

siDomE.

but It was Saturday, pay-day, and he must wait
until the crowd of operatives had left. Althou-h
impatient and out of spirits, Frantz experion.ed''a
keen pleasure in again finding himself in the wliirl
of life in the great city of Paris. In all these faces
-some honest, others vicions-he read the same
contentment, tlie same joy, at seeing the end of the
week 8 labors. For the.n, Sunday evidently began
at the cashier's desk, on Saturday evening, at seven
oclock.

Tlie operatives turned away from the desk,
rattling the money that glittered in their palms!
liiere were mui-murs and complaints sometimes, as
they were informed of certain lines, or of hours that
they had omitted ; and above the tumult rose tlie
calm, clear tones of Sigismond, as he defended the
interests of his masters. Frantz knew the scene all
by lieart; he knew that those flitting shadows out-
side the door were the wives or daughters, waitin..
to lead their husbands or fathers home past the
tempting wine-shojis.

Sigismond was at last free. The two friends
met cordially, and in the silent factory-now silent
and empty for twenty-four hours-the cashier ex-
plained fully the existing state of things. Sidonie
-her lavish expenditures, the honor of her home
lost and sacrifieed-he fully dwelt upon. Eisler
had just purchased a country-house at Asnii^res, the
former dwelling of an actress, and they were there
installed in the most luxurious fashion. They had
carnages and horses, and numerous seiTants, and,

in short lived jike peopiT^T^;:^;;;;^^;^;^

But w,,t ^^^^, ^,^ the gTe^*t

^easiness vm the fact that for some '^me Geo ' e
had not applied to him for money, and yet Sidonl
Bpent more than ever. ^ Sidonie

"My confidence is ffone " sn.Vl ti,„ i

cashier, shaking his head ■",,!; ' ^ , ' .""'"PP^
Ti,„„ 1 • ^ , ' "'y confidence is cone ' "

brother Frantz-your brother! Who will exnlJn
to us what he is thinking about ? He si "s to be
m a dream the greater part of tlie time. He tL !

asking— 'Is the man a rascal or a fool?"'

The two men were walking in the <?ardpr,

drr 'nir 'r'^ *° "^^ '^'^ epon of^bad

dream. ILs hnmed voyage ; the sudden change of
dimate and surroundings ; Sigismond's rapid w^rds •

si onie th "'°'""T "' ""'" P~-e^ M^s of
b.donie, the woman he had so loved ; of his brother

the man whose honor had always hitherto been un
"Twat"^!! "r.*"^"^,^ ""-'^ bewildertd"
go hom . with h.m ; but Frantz refused, preferrin/,
to be alone. Mechanically he turned 1^^111
q arters and on the door saw the placard, "To te
'et. It was the same room where he and his
brother had lived together for so many years and
opposite gl stened the Dolobcllcs' little sign. £
door was half open. Should he go in? In ha
whole of Paris he co„l,l .q* i.»..51 , ^" ?^

130

BWONIE.

shelter; it was like a harbor ot refuge— a shore
radiant with sunsliine and peace, where women sat
and worked, and children played ; where the waters
were calm and clear, while outside tempests roared
and waves ran mountain-high ; and, more than all,
without his knowing it, Desiree's love for him cre-
ated about her an atmosphere of gentle tenderness,
that to his wounded, sore heart was inexpressibly
grateful. Desiree, the little icicle, gradually thawed.
They were talking with much animation, while Ma-
dame Dolobelle spread the table.

" You will take supper with us, Frantz," she said.
"My husband has gone to carry our work home, but
he will return soon." ''

The poor wife said this with a certain air of pride r
for, in truth, ever since the melancholy disappoint-
ment attending his theatrical project, M. Dolobelle
had taken all his meals in his own apartments, for
he owed so If.rge a bill at the restaurant that he
really dared not return there. But he never failed,
on Saturdays, to bring home with him one or two
unexpecled guests; so in a few moments he ap-
peared, accompanied by two actors— one, wrinkled
and shriveled, with an unmistakable air of the foot-
lights ; the other, buttoned closely to the chin, with-
out the smallest evidence of linen visible. Dolo-
belle announced his visitors pompously at the door,
but interrupted himself in the middle of his pres-
entation by catching sight of Frantz. ^*' Frantz I
my Frantz ! " cried the old player, in a melodramatic
tone, rushing forward with extended arms.

THE A VENOER.

131

_ Des.r^e made a little face as she saw their vis-
itors. It would have been so much more agreeable
to hare had no strangers there that evenin.-: but
her father eared little for this. His first thon-ht
was to empty his pockets. Ho drew out a superb
pate~-i^, the ladies," he said, forgetting that it
was he himself who adored it. Then appeared a lob-
ster and a huge sausage, some marrom glacis, and
some early cherries.

Meanwhile o-- of the guests pulled up an invisi-
ble shut-collar, and the other furtively watched the
preparations for supper with hungry eyes. But
Desiree thought with terror of tlie immense hole
made by this improvised repast in their week's
earnings, and Madame Dolobelle was at her wits'
ends to find the requisite number of plates and
knives.

The supper was gay enough for tlie actors, but to
the two women and Frantz tlie worn-out anecdotes of
the theatre had an odor of extinguished lamps and
empty benches. The three men recalled their enor-
mous successes, for in their own opinion they had
been the greatest men on the stage ; and while
they alked they ate as actors eat-three-quarters
turned to the audience, a napkin spread on one knee
alternate mouthfuls and phrases, expressing joy'
tern>r, or surprise, by adroit management of the
knife and fork.

Madame Dolobelle listened with a smile, for a
woman cannot be the wife of an actor for thirtv v„,„.=
Without sympathizing somewhat in Lis eecentricities"

132

SID NIK

^ But at the corner of the table sat Frantz and
Desirde. They talked in whispers, and heard little
of what went on about them. Remembrances of
their childhood, which were of little value, save that
they gave them a past in common, made up the sub-
stance of their conversation. Suddenly Dolobelle
interrujited them :

" You have not seen your brother," lie said to
Frantz, "nor his wi^o yet, have you? There you
will see a gmiide dame, and such toilets and such
style ! They have a superb establishment at Asni^res
They are quite beyond us in these days— never a
word ! never a visit I As for me, you understand

that I am totally ind-'^o.rent, but for these ladies it

IS somewhat humihating."
^ " papa I " said D6sir^e, eagerly. « You Imow

tnat we love Sidonie too much not to excuse her ! "
The actor struck the table with his fist. " And

that is precisely where you are in the wrong If

people insult you and humiliate you, you should not

excuse them."

For the fancied wrongs of the old comedian still
rankled in his soul.

"If you knew," he said to Frantz, "how close
and grasping your brother has grown ! I asked him
to lend me a small sum of money, which sum, small
as It was, would have made my fortune. I offered
him the best security; but, if you will credit my
words, he refused me point-blank. His wife for-
sooth, must have it all ! She rides horseback,
drives her pony-wagon, and alto^i-ether queens it

THE A VENOER.

133

bravely! Between ou.sel^es^^;;^^;^;;;:^;;;;;^^^
^ licy are a very happy pair. Tliat little woman
w. 1 make Inm tun, all the colors of the rainbow
yet, It 1 am not mistaken."

And the old actor winked at Lis friends
I'rantz was thundcrstrnek. The horrible cer-
tainty was presented to him on all si<les. Si.rismond

iTs bS:: '•"";/"' t' -^^ '"^^-^ Doiobehiz.

His, but the result was the same

>u. ned to the brewery to smoke. Frantz remained
a while longer with the two women.

Seeing him there at her side, Desir^.e felt her
heart swell with gratitude to Sidonie. Was it not
to her generosity that she owed even this semblance
of happiness, this poor, fleeting pleasure ? And this
thought enabled her defend her rival and old
iriend.

" It is not necessary to believe all that my father
has said of your sister-in-law, Frantz. He is some-
times given to exaggeration, you know. As for me
I am quite sure that Sidonie is incapable of the
things of which she is accused. Her heart is the
same as of old, and she loves her friends, even if she
appears to neglect them a little. That is only nat-
ural, after all. Do you not think so, Frantz ? »

How pretty bethought her as she was speaking!
Her debcuite, high-bred face, her pure coloring, and
soft, tender eyes, charmed him. And, while she
thus warmly defended her friend, Frantz Eisler

thought, with a throh c\^ Tnar^m.^ o„i^'.t-__ ., ,
- - "- .i«ci^iirLi= is-ciiijiuutifco, mat

134

t u

V.:-

I i

BILOFIE.

this girl had loved him, loved him still, perhaps, and
that her heart was a refuge for him when tossed
and wounded by the storms of the outer world.

All night in his old room, still rocked by hia
ocean-voyage, by the noise of waves and stron-
winds, he dreamed of the far-away days of his youth''
of " little Chobe," of Desiree, of their plays, and his'
school-days.

Then, when the morning sun glanced throuo^h
his curtainless windows, and i>artially awakened
him, he dreamed that it was the hour for his school
and that his brother opened the door on his way to
the factory, and cried :

" Up with you, lazy-bones ! "
That good, kind voice, too real for a dream,
made him open his eyes wide, and start up.
^ There stood Risler, watching him tenderly, who
m his joy at again seeing his brother could find no
other words than the old ones, « I am so happy ! "

Although the day was Sunday, Risler had come
to the quiet factory, unable to keep longer away
from the model of his beloved invention, and was
there met by Achille, with the intelligence of the
arrival of Frantz. He started off to the youth's old
quarters, a little vexed that he had not been in-
formed in advance by letter, and, above all, that
i^rantz had not gone out to Asni^res instantly on
reaching Paris. This vexation he at once expressed
to h,s brother, who offered the excuse of excessive
latigue, and also a certain pleasure he had in ao-ain
occupying thf^ir old room. °

THE A VElfOER.

135

"I undoi-stand all tliat.^ernipted r1^.

but now you are going l,o,„e with mo. Won't

Sidonie be smpnsed ? We often talk of you, and of

our regret that you we-e so far away."

And the poor m,..i,, overwhelmed with ioy be-
came silent, and looked with ad.nirin-. e-es on the
well -grown, broad-shouldered man%efore hh^
m>le R,sler was thu.s occupied, Frantz, in his turn

:frtth:.^^"'^'--^--"^~"P'-'vefae°e

• / ^^ \ ' Vf ™Pf'^«! We," he said to himself. " He

ng all the eruel suspie.ons of the people about him
his anger concentrated on that vain woman who de!
cmved her husband so grossly that she ended by«iv-
.ng the world the right to look upon him as"^ her
accomphce. What a terrible explanation he shonM
have w, h her ! how severely he should speak to her I
No subterfuges, but the stern, unvarnished truth
would come from his lips. He thought of all this
as they went their way on that lovely Sunday mom!

1' A T" ^^' "'■'"''^''^- ^'^''"- ^^^ opposite, and
talked without stopping. He spoke of the manu-
factory and of the fortune they were makingTand
how when his mvention was perfected, their profits
would be quadrupled. ^

"But," said Frantz, uneasily, "are you quite
Bure of the success of your invention ?" ^

"Sure? of course I am sure. I will show you
an my plans; and next week, under my own eyes,
the manufacture of my niacliine will begin In

n <;

136

SIDONIE.

I ii

three months I shall have obtained my patent, and
my invention will be at work. You will see, my
boy, how money will pour in on me, and how happy
I shall be to have it in my power to recompense
young Fromont for all the kindness lavished on me
by his father I "

Then he began to talk of his domestic happiness.
Sidonie was the best of wives. They had a happy
home, and had gathered a small but select circle
about them. His wife sang like a nightingale,
thanks to her teacher, Madame Dobson, who was
a charming little woman. In fact, he had but one
anxiety, one annoyance in the world, and that was a
certain coolness that had arisen between himself and
Sigismond ; whence it came, or its cause, he knew
not. Frantz, perhaps, would assist him in clearing
up the mystery.

"Certainly I will," answered Frantz through
his close-shut teeth ; for he grew hot with rage that
any one should venture to suspect a baseness hidden
under such childlike frankness.

As they drew near Asnieres, Frantz perceived a
small house built like a miniature castle, all turrets
and towers. The clear, crystal panes of the win-
dows were shaded by rose-colored curtains ; and on
the green lawn glittered a huge metal ball. The
river ran very near, and at the little wharf lay a
flock of small boats, with the dust of the road on
their pretentious names. From her windows Sido-
nie could see several restaurants, closed and silent
during the week, but on Sundays running over with a

THE A VENOBR.

137
noisy crowd. Tl,e nowiy-g^^Z^^^^^^^^^^^^^;^^
yol ow under their feet, and ti.e «hole aspect of t e
spot was thoroughlv viilTir ^;,u, • ^"-""^"'6
«ll !,„„ f 1- ^ -^ ^"'g'^"^- tMdoiiie, a cockney in
all her feehngs, was delighted with it, for she had

bie of all country-places in which to reside ; for the
number of trains permitted one to go into Pari'
every evemng and return after the thfatres «L

denliV^Tf''""''"'' '"' "^""'^el-es in at the gar-
rod?f 7 '^ r^'^'^ '^' billiard-room, a few
rods away fro.n the house, and the conservatory!

comes, for a chdd's amusement, in various bits that
take apart and can be packed in a box-the whole

Frantz looked about him. The Ion- broad win
dows. opening on a wide piazza, gave" hta fa

cTai: t fT'-T' "'""'^'°^^' Americanrki i;^
chair, a table with a coffee-equipage upon it and a

inl w1th%7'/'^P"^""^ ""'" "'»"^'' -<! - »

hf door f r' ?°^"-" ^"^' '' ^^ ''e^el'e'i
fte door, he shouted loudly, "Guess who is with

138

SID OKIE.

Ifj

Madame Dobson started up, while George and
Sidonie appeared suddenly on the tlircshold of the
boudoir.

** IIow you frightened me ! " she cried, running
to meet her husband.

The ruffles and liounces of her white peignoir ,
with its bows and floating ends of blue ribbon, rus-
tled and waved as she moved. Already recovered
from her brief embarrassment, she said, with her
ever-ready little smile, to Frantz, "Welcome, my
brother I "

Risler left them to each other, and turned to
George, whom he was somewhat surprised to see.

" What ! George,' you here ? I thought you
were at Savigny."

" Yes, I wanted to see you ; and I supposed
you would be here to-day," stammered the young
man.

Sidonie disappeared, and Madame Dobson con-
tinued at the piano, the half-subdued tones of which
reminded one of the music that, at the theatre,
occasionally accompanies or heralds critical situa-
tions.

Risler, with his customary good-humor, apolo-
gized to his partner, and took Frantz on a tour of
inspection over the house. They went from the
drawing-room to the stable, and to the conservatory ;
all was new and bright, but cramped and inconven-
ient.

'* But," said Risler, with a certain pride, " it cost
an enormous sum of money."

THE A VENGER,

189

He insisted on showing liis brotlier evervtliin.^
-^'as and water on eacli Hoor, the automatic bells"
and the English biUiard-table-and all tl,is with
constant references to his young partner, who, in
taking hun into the firm, had opened such a brill-
lant future to him.

At each new effusion of Risler's, Georo-o Fro-
mont felt his very brow burn under the sincrular
expression of Frantz's eyes. **

At table, Madame Dobson was almost the only
one who spoke; knowing, or rather believing that
she knew, the entire history of her friend and host-
ess, she thought she understood the sulky anger of
Frantz, an old lover, furious at being replaced : and
the anxiety of George, disturbed by the unlooked-for
appearance of a rival, appeared but natural to the
sentimental singing-mistress. She looked first at
one and then at another with an encouraging smile
and was filled with admiration of Sidonie's compos-
ure, and reserved her contempt and disdain for
" that old Risler, that abominable tyrant ! "

^ As soon as lunch was over, George mnounced
his intention of returning at once h .ivigny. Rig,
ler did not venture to detain him, as he thou-ht of
his dear "Madame George" all alone, but went to
the station to see him off.

^ Sidonie and Frantz sat in a little arbor covered
with clustering roses, whi o Dobson returned to her
piano.

Sidonie sat in silence, looking off at the
water.

140

SID ON IE.

Fraiitz, too, was silent. Suddenly, just as she
openea her lips to speak, he said :

" I must talk to you."

" Precisely," she answered, gravely; "but come
this way, we shall be less likely to be interrupted."
And they entered a small summer-house at the foot
of the garden.

ijji

CnAPTEE II.

EXPLANATION.

It was most fortunate that the hour had come
for some stop to be put to Sidonie's reckless con-
duct. Her defiance of all les conve?iances— the lux-
ury that she affected— the enormous sums of money
that she lavished— all announced thait the end could
not be far away ; that she would soon sink from the
surface of the whirlpool in which she had been in-
gulfed to the dark depths below ; and that with her
she would drag the honor of her husband, and per-
haps the name and fortunes of a respectable house.
Her present surroundings hastened her ruin. In
Paris she was compelled to pay a certain regard to
appearances, but in this village she was, as it
were, utterly alone. A pistol-shot in a neighboring
house-the melancholy ending of an intrigue as silly
as It was disgraceful— only caused her to smile, and
to long for « adventures." T].e days on which she
was not to be seen going or coming from Paris she
spent m absolute indolence, wrapped in a white
dressing^go^vTi, never occupying herself with the
details of her house. The servants robbed her
constantly, but she knew nothing of it. Little by

SIDOmE.

Bl li I

little, she lost all ambition ; she descended to her
former shop-girl level, and even below it. From
the respectable mercantile circles to which her mar-
riage had raised her, she fell to the position of the
women she saw about her. She imitated them in
her dress and her manners, cut her hair short over
her forehead like a Skye terrier, and for two months
nourished as an absolute blonde, greatly to Risler's as-
tonishment, who looked as if he had changed his doll.
As to George, these freaks amused him, and it
was he who was the real master of the house.

To amuse Sidonie, he had procured for her a
semblance of society, some bachelor friends, but no
women—women have too good eyes. Madame Dob-
son was the only lady who crossed Sidonie's thresh-
old.

Picnics, dinners, and water-parties, were arranged.
Each day Risler's position became more ridiculous*
more shocking. When he arrived at night, tired'
heated, and badly dressed, he must go at once and
dress for dinner.

" Hurry ! " his wife would say.
He obeyed her injunctions, coming in perhaps
after the soup had been sent away. The guests he
hardly knew ; they were George's friends, who had
come to talk business at Risler's table. This mao-ic
word " business » explained and justified everything
m Eisler's eyes. The constant presence of Georo-e,
the choice of the guests, and Sidonie's exquisite toi'
lets, were all in tlie interest of the great firm with
which it was his pride and joy to be connected.

EXFLASATION.

143

ry and reoklcssness of Sidonie witli growing dis-
trus and uneasiness. He made his appearanfe a -
most dady at her house, fearing to le'a'e thisart-
ful, unprincipled nature too much to her own de-

Vices. ^

" -Where is your husband, Claire ?» her grand-
father would sav "Wliv <i«„. i ^ s'»"u

oftener?" ^ ' ^^ "''' ""^^ "^^re

last wIT"'''' ^''"'«'' ''"' *"^ ''•^'•^^'f ''-<3 at
as begun to grow very anxious. The tears came

to her eyes when she received the brief letters with
winch her husband coolly announced his detention
m town : Do not expect me to-night or to-morrow
Perhaps, the day after, I can get away."

Slie dined sadly, opposit a vacant chair, and
without knowing the worst, felt that her husband
was drifting away from ),.r. lie was out of spiS
and absent-minded wfc.,. i,e was compelled by !
cumstances to appear at Savigny. Claire, sustafning
with Sidonie only the coolest relations, knew nothing
of what was going on at Asuieres, and, when Gcor,^^

sought to discover the secret that drew him so con-

w t n Td ■■"", '"' .*'"■'■ "'"''■ "- ''-band

Beened to t.t^'""' '"PP'"" *'" *^' ^«^ Sidonie

see^ned to take a perverse pleasure in tormenting

tiim. She received the most compromising atten-

ions from several persons. One Casaboni"!n Ital

ng wT' r'"'""' '^^'^''^'"^ Dobson wen o
fe ^r^ .^^^,. ^eorge appeared, too,

144

SID ON IE.

every afternoon, and began to think that Kisler did
not take sufficient care of his wife.

Had she been his wife, George* thought to him-
self he would have kept her in better order. But
he had no right to control her, and from him she
would not bear one word. Sometimes, too, with
that invmcible logic that makes itself felt even by
fools, he argued that, as she had deceived her hua-
band, so might she deceive him in his turn.

He spent his time in gong from jeweler to jew-
eler, to procure some novelty, some surprise. How
wel he knew her, after all! He realized that he
could retain her interest and her affection, such as
thej were, only so, long as he could amuse her.

That day, however, had not yet arrived. She
was living the life that precisely suited her—had all
the happiness she was capable of feeling. In her
love for George lingered no element either of pas-
sion or romance. He was merely a second husband
younger, but above all richer, than the other. Ju.t
before the arrival of Frantz, startled by some whis-
pers that reached her ear, she had established her
parents at Asni6res, in her vicinity ; and with a
father willfully blind, and a mother tenderly unsus-
picious, she gave herself an air of respectabilitv o^
the advantages of which she was beginning to' be
conscious.

Everytliing was thus arranged to her satisfac-
tion, when suddenly Frantz Eisler appeared on the
scene, and she saw at once that her repose was
threatened, and that war was to be declared between

EXPLANATIOX

14 5

time had now arrived to put it in action.

The summer-house they entered was a circular
room with windows on four sides. It was fur-
nished for those warm da/s when the heat of the
garden would be nnendurable. A large divan ran
round the whole wall, and a small lacquered table
occupied the centre, covered with books and pj

_ The walls were delicately frescoed, and the de-
sign was so ex-quisite-birds among pale pink and
white roses-that it was like a dream of summer in
Itself; the windows were shaded with masses of
green vines, so that the interior was delightfully
cool and dark The sound, too, of water-the river
Japping the shores with a gentle ripple-added to
the charm of the apartment. Sidonie threw her-
self carelessly on the divan, the soft folds of her
white drapery swelling like sea-foam about her
Her head was slightly bent forward, and she looked
up at Irantz with eyes that were openly rebellious
—almost threatening in e.vpression.
Frantz stood erect and very pale.
"Accept my congratulations, madame," he said,
as he looked about him. " You understand the full
meanmg of the word comfortable, I see " And
immediately, as if afraid to allow the conversation
to wander from the point to which he wished to lead

for all this lu.xury_to your husband oryourlov-

11 i

II i

146

SWONIE.

■sil -^ '

m 1

Witliout moving, and without turning her eyes
away, Sidonie answered :
" To both."

lie was utterly disconcerted by this unexpected
coohiess.

" You admit, then, that George Fromont is — ? "

" I admit nothing."

Frantz looked at her ; notwithstanding her calm-
ness, she was frightfully pale, and her eternal little
smile no longer hovered about her lips.

'' Listen to me, Sidonie. My brother's name, the
name he gave to his wife, belongs also to me. Risler
is blind and weak, and just for thc*t reason it be-
comes my duty to defend him from the consequences
of your attacks on his happiness and honor. There-
fore I bid you say to M. Fromont that he shall not
again entei these doors ; if he does — "

" If he does ? " asked Sidonie, after a moment's
pause, looking up from her rings, with which she
had been playing.

" If he does, I shall most assuredly inform my
brother of all that is going on. My revelation will
kill him, perhaps, but you may be sure that he will
kill you first ! "

She shrugged her shoulders.

" Let him kill me !— what of that ?"

These words were said in so dreary a tone that
Frantz, in spite of himself, felt an emotion of pity
for this beautiful young creature who had so thrown
away her life, who spoke of dying as if it were the
end of all things.

EXPLANA TION:

/ «^i^^ned-~-"yoii love liim, since vou prefer death
to giving him up ? " ■ ^ ^^ ^®^^^

She threw her head back haughtily.

his attentions ae I would haveZ tt J/tS:
man who came in my wav "
"Why?" •'■

"Beeanse it was necossary-because I was mad

Sat price !" '"'" *° "P™*""'* '-"- -» at

She had risen and stood in fmnt of i,: i
eyes looking into his. °^ ''""' ''''"

A.riminallove! What did she mean ?

«r„ • / . atritude, that something terrlhiA
was m store for him • hnf hia o^v ? terriDJe

^ir . 1 "^ Jiiin, out ills self assumed functinn

of judge compelled him to ask ^unction

"Whoisit?"hesaid,swiy.
She answered in a low, dull voice :

l;ad thought of her only Lw-sfo thC too^
a.s w> e of h^ brother bore not the emalles re'sem'
blance to h,s former>„<,&, a„d i„ his eyes t wouM
We been a crime to recognize in her a'Z; iTa ' "
ure of the young girf to whom he had so o^

whispered the words, " I love tou " A J "

■»<■= „!,„ _i, . . , , '. "^'^ 7°"- And now if,
"■" ="= ""o saw BiiB ioTed him I

148

SIDONIE.

}

The unhappy, bewildered judge stood silent.
She, opposite, waited for him to speak.

It was one of those warm, damp days of spring,
when the air is laden with the perfume of flowers
and shrubs; the sweet voice of Madame Dobson
floated through the open windows on the soft spring
air, and from below came the gentle lapping of the
waves.

" Yes, Frantz, I have always loved you," said
Sidonie ; " I renounced this love in girlish igno-
rance, but it has grown with my years and with the
wisdom that came with them. When I found that
Desiree loved you also, I thought of the glory of
self-sacrifice, and of her misfortunes, and I deter-
mined to make her happy, and I repulsed you that
you might turn to her. But as soon as you were
gone, I found that I had over-estimated my own
strength. Poor little Desiree ! will you believe that
I have hated her ever since ? The very sight of her
occasioned me such keen anguish that I have never
been near her in all these months."

" But if you loved me," asked Frantz, in low,
half-f rightened tones—" if you loved me, why did
you marry my brother ? "

She did not wince.

" To marry Risler was to bring rriyself nearer
you. I said to myself : * I cannot be his wife, but I
can be his sister ; in that way I may love and care
for him, and shall not live a life utterly apart from
his.' Alas ! these were the simple struggles of a
young girl, the folly of which only experience can

EXPLANATION.

149

terly affection, FranU; neitlier could I forget you ;
with another husband than Iti.lor I n.ight have done
so. l.ut he talked to me constantly of you-of vour
prospects-of your success and plans. And then
worse than all, your brother spoke to me in you;
voice; m Ins step, in his ways, there is a strmi-^e
family resemblance, that haunts and bewilders m'e.

1 determined to seek some distraction. I offer no
apology for myself-I simply state the bare fact of

2 utter misery. I listened to George in a moment
of desperation, hoping that through him I could be
drawn out of my life, which was°monotonous, and
gave me too much time for thought. But I swear

o you, Frantz, that in this whirlpool of excitement
and amusement, by which I have been ingulfed I
have never ceased to think of you; and, if any one
had the nght to come here as an accuser it was cer'
tainly not yourself, who has made me, unconscious-
Jy, it 13 true, precisely what I am."
She was silent, choked by her tears

m^/Tl.^w f • "^' '""'^ '' ^''- The miserable
man felt that his former passion had resumed its
Bway over his heart. Neither did he dare speak
for he felt that, did he open his lips, words oS
and of passion would escape.

He turned away in silence. As he reached the
door, Sidonie darted after him-snatched his hand-
hers was soft and warm-his icy cold. At that mo-
ment Eisler's tall form passed the window. « They
must be hei-fi M n>.Ai.^ j> u . , , ^^^J

150

SWONIE.

looked in the arbor." So saying, he entered the
room, accompanied by Lis father- and mother-in-
law.

Madame Chobe, for whom Frantz had always
had a certain charm, welcomed him cordially; and
her husband said, in a most patronizing tone, '< And
how is the canal at Suez getting on ? "—while Ris-
ler talked loudly of killing the fatted calf for the
returned prodigal, and then shouted to the singing-
mistress :

"Madame Dobson— Madame Dobson I do, pray,
sing something more cheerful, or play us a waltz,'
for my mother-in-law and I are perishing for a
dance ! " \

" Risler, are you quite crazy ? " cried Madame
Chebe, as her son-in-law drew her along the alley in
a wild dance, for the good man was really intoxi-
cated with joy.

For Frantz the day was one interminable series
of agonies. Suez and his brother's invention were
talked of until he failed to grasp the meaning of a
single sentence. Sidonie was very silent, and seemed
wrapped in her own thoughts ; and Frantz, without
daring to look at her, watched her blue-silk um-
brella, and the undulations of her white drapery.
How she had changed in these last two years ! But
had she improved ? Then a horrible idea occurred
to him. It was a race-day at Longchamps, and a
constant succession of carriages rolled past, filled
with women ; or a low pony-wagon, driven by a
woman with rouged cheeks, who sat stiffly forward.

EXPLANATION.

181

her vcl drawn tightly baolc, and her little sun-shade
and wli.p held in her hand. She looked like a doll
that was wound up for a certain length of time •
nothing seemed i..ally living about her, save he.^
charcoaled eyes, that were immovably fixed on her
horses heads. Sidonie looked like these creatures-
bidonio could have driven George's horses in that
same way. Frantz started ! Was he not at that
moment in George's carriage ? Had he not drunk
Ins wme? And did not all this luxury, by which
he was at this moment surrounded, come from
George ?

It was sliamef 111, revolting ! He owed it to him-
Belf to expose the whole tissue of deceptions to his
brother. Had he not come for that ? But his cour-
age was gone.

That evening, after dinner, Eieler urged his
wife to sing. He was anxious that she should ex-
hibit all her new accomplishments to his brother.

Sidonie begged to be excused, but madame tos^e4
her long English curls, and seated herself at the
piano to play the accompaniment.
^ " But I know nothing— what do you wish me to
smg ? » She ended by deciding for herself. Pale
and absorbed-in the flickering light of the candles,
which seemed to exhale perfume with their light—
60 intense was the odor from the garden of lilacs
and lilies— Sidonie sang a strange little Creole mel-
ody,^ with quaint, provincial words, very popular in
Louisiana, whence it had been brought and set to
music bv Madame Dnbsnn •

I' .J

153

SIB ON IE.

" Pouvre petit Mam'zelle Zizi,
Cost I'amou', I'uinou', qui tourno la t6to I "—

and in narrating the fate of the poor little Zizi, who
had been driven mad by love, Sidonie herself as-
sumed the air of a woman carried away by passion.
With the pathetic cry of a wounded dove, she took
up the melancholy refrain in the colonial ^^ai!o/« ;
" O'est I'araou', I'amou', qui tourno la t6te."

The siren had not Seen judicious iii her choice
of a song. The very name of Zizi transported
Prantz to the quiet ro )m where sat Desiree Dolo-
belle— she who had loved him so patiently and so
long. In her childhood she had been called Zizi,
and the singer seemed to be extolling her charms
and her fidelity. Again lie was at her side, waiting,
for the tardy coming of her father. Yes, it wat
there and only there, Frantz said to himself, that
he could find a safe shelter from the temptations
ttiat assailed him in this enervating, unwholesome
atmosphere.

In Desir^e's love he would take refuge. He
would go to her and say, " Help me, save me I »
And who knows that a pure and innocent affection
would not fill his heart, to the exclusion of his pres-
ent guilty passion ?

"Where are you going?" asked Risler, seeing
his brother rise abruptly as soon as the last bar of
the song had come to an end.

"I am going away— it is late."

" What of that ? You will sleep here, of course."

EXriANA Tioy. ^„

ire refused. mr^^^^^^^^~~^~~~^^^

inistea to lum by Ins euinloveiN A «.«;». *i

t.eated him bu/he Innia^Io^fZ

and soon took liis seat in the train ^ '

room, but fe.don.e and Madame Dobson lingered be-

mront:"r£f "«^"'"' ''^'""^ ^«"° «^ «'« "^oat-
" A regular epoil-sport 1 » sai.l Madame Dobson.
Irantz, you mean?" asked Sidonie • "but T
have checkmated l.lm T f„„ > ' ^

vervcareful for 1 ™' \ ^^ ' °"'^' "^ must be
very earetul for he is of an extremely joalo ., tern
perament. I must write at once to Caf a ,„n ,3

JrthThvs tT """ ^^ ^'^'"'^ "™- ^■'■' -' -

tell h,m od ! '" *e morning to sc. George;
tell him to depart at once to Savigny, and to stov
there for a fortnight." & .r> ""u lo stay

m ^

1 :i

cnAPTEK in.

POOR LITTLE MADEilOISELLE ZIZT.

Ah! how happy Desirec was in those days I
Frantz came every evening regularly, and he rarely
mentioned Sidonie.

In the morning, as soon as she was seated at her
work, a gentle tap > was heard. "Good-morning,
Mademoiselle Zizi ! " for so he always now called
her.

In the evening they waited together for the old
actor; and, while she worked, he told her of the
strange new country which was to be his future
home.

" Wliat is it, my dear, that has so waked yon
up?" said her mother; for the lame girl, instead of
Bitting all day long, as had been her habit, now
moved np and down the room, held herself very
erect, and asked " if it showed when she was not
walking."

Her simple dress was now rarely without its
knots of dainty ribbon, and her beautiful hair was
arranged with the greatest care. Every one noticed
the change, and even her birds and beetles partook
of its results, and had an entirely different air.

POOR LITTLE MADEilOISELLE ZIZI. jgg

da^s liantz had spoken of an excursion into the
country; and as the papa, always good, .,!.va™
erous ,„ade no objection, they slartJd eJy C
bunday morning. ^

You may imagine the anxiety with which D.i.,
r^e refred the night before. wLn the g^^ '^.^l"
her wmdow at six o'clock, and saw the sweet oss
fl H T: f "" ■""■"'"=' -" "">»g''t of to

en fori 1 ' ""'•*'" '"™'^' *'"" ^^^ 1-' "«
hoM H . ? ^'^' .'' """^' ""'' *'"" «h« ^vas to be-
hold that day again, on the arm of tixe person dear-
est to her m the world, tears filled her eyes.

The evenmg before, Frantz had brought her a
dam ty sdk umbrella with an ivory handle; and the

pit costume. The result was altogc".«r charming.

At nmeo clock precisely, Fran;, appeared \l a
carnage. lie sprang lightly „p the staL to s n.-
mon h>s guests. Zizi came down without any a s
anee s.ave that of the railing. Madame Dolobe t
followed close behind, watching her daughter ca 1
fnlly. Dolobelle nimself, a new overcoat folded on
liis a.™,. stood at the door of the earria..e

What a charming drive that wasl 'The pure

pni s hea. t w it, joy. Do not ask where thev went

tliat no sun ever shone so brightly, no birds ever
eang so sweetlv. as t1,^o« oi,„ u.?..., f,' , "™?_over
she

■_ .1 to "v» **" uirus ever

? SO swee ly, as those she heard that day. When

Ji 3"0lin

^v«u^t;. Sue iiaa iiad an occasional

156

SIDONm

day of country pleasure ; but, as she grew older, ever-
increasing pain aggi-avated by motion, the necessi-
ty of economizing every moment as well as every
penny, had held her as by invisible bonds to that old
quarter of Paris inhabited by her parents. Distant
roofs, and the new red bricks of the Fromont man-
ufactory, bounded her horizon, but the girl was not
discontented. Therefore, for some time she had
seen no flowers save what grew in pots on her win-
dow-sill ; no trees save the acacias waving in the
summer wind in the Fromont garden. Thus what
joy swelled her heart as she looked on the beautiful
turf bejeweled with tiny flowers ! She clapped her
hands in childlike ecstasy. Frantz kept near her,
ready to aid her at every turn ; and this wonder-
ful day passed like a heavenly vision. The great,
blue sky seemed to float above the green branches ;
the narrow glades with perhaps a gleam of the
horizon in the distance, the flowers, and the vines
ravished and bewildered her. '

Toward evening, when the sun was setting, and
she saw the long lines of tremulous light on the
river, and far away, between two hills, a thick, fog-
like mass of roofs and steeples, and was told that
there lay Paris, she cast one look at the lovely scene
about her, and laid away in her memory all the ex-
quisite landscape with its odor of hawthorn, as if
never, never should she see it again.

Tlie flowers that the young girl took away with
her j^erfumed her room for days a- d days. The
hyacinths and violets, the fair blossoms of the thorn.

POOR LITTLE MADEMOISELLE ZIZL I57

were mingled ^^•itlI a crowd of smaller flowers, of
which even the names were unknown to her

In looking at them, how many times did little
Zizi live over again each occurrence of that memo-
rable day I The violets reminded her of the bed of

!!!^.^T^'';^^V'^ ^'""^ '^''^'^ ^"d ^'^^-e, kneel,
ing at the side of Frantz, she had gathered them. As

8he thought, she worked, and a gleam of sunshine,
coming through a half-opened window, touched the
breasts of the humming-birds on the table, and trans-
formed the t.ny feathers to glittering jewels. Spring
and youth, hope and love, glorified this poor little
work-room on the fifth floor.

Frantz by this time was equally happy. TK^^U
r6e, by degrees, had won his heart completely. Even
the remembrance of Sidonie, he fancied, had de-
parted. He had never gone to Asnieres again.
Come home with me," his brother had said; " Si-
dome insists on your dining with us to-dav." But
Irantz pretended to be overwhelmed with business.
It was easy, too, to induce Risler to ac- ot this ex-
cuse. Each time that Frantz left his brotner's oflice
he was intercepted by old Sigismond, liis pen behind
his ear, and his knife in his hand. lie kept the
young man informed of all that went on. Geor-e
be said, came regularly to his oftice, and went out
to . avigny every night. No more bills had been
presented to him for payment.

"You

see

was quite right in

Vkll^- nil i.T ._ - <

-•-4v, axi tiiu same,

said the cashier, triumphantly, "I

■or you to come home ;

good man, " I feel as

158

swomE.

III

i' k

i.!'

if we were all treacling on the edge of a quick-
Band."

" Have no fear," answered the engineer ; " I am
on the lookout."

"You will be here for some time longer, I
hope ? " asked the cashier, anxiously.

"Not for long. I have a matter of the highest
imjiortance to arrange before I go, however."

This matter was Frantz's marriage to Desiree.
He had spoken of it to no one, not even to her, but
little Zizi had no doubts, evidently, for she was as
liappy and as gay as a lark.

They were alone one Sunday afternoon— Madame
Dolobelle had just ^gone out, proud and happy to
show herself on her husband's arm, carefully dressed.
Frantz had a certain festal air, and a look of sup-
pressed excitement ; and from the very way in which
lie drew his chair toward her sofa Desiree under-
stood that he was about to say something of the
gravest importance. Their conversation began by
indifferent phrases; then came a long silence. At
this moment a gentle tap at the door.

"Come in!" said Desiree, impatiently; and
Sidonie appeared, beautifully dressed— smiling and
gracious. She had just run in for a moment to see
her little Desiree.

The presence of her brother-in-law seemed to
fistonish her greatly ; but, amid her coaxing words
to her friend, she had neither eyes nor ears for
him. After a time, however, she askod to see the
window on the staircase and tlie room whore the

POOR LIT TLE MADEMOISELLE ZIZL 159

brothers had lived. It pleased her, she saiTMf
sadJy, to recall those days of her youth.

" Do you remember, Frantz, when tlie princess
came to call on yon, wearing on her little head a
diadem of feathers ? "

Frantz did not reply ; he was too disturbed.
Somethmg told him that this woman had come there
for him alone-that she wished to fascinate and in-
toxicate him-and he felt, with an emotion of min-
gjed despair and rage, that he should fall into the net
she thus spread. D^siree suspected nothincr—Sido-
me's air was so gentle and friendly ; besides, they
were brother and sister; of course, there could be
no question of love between them.

Nevertheless, the lame girl had a vague presen-
timent of coming sorrow, when Sidonie turned oa
the threshold, and caid to her brother-in-law, care-
lessly : '

" By-the-way, Frantz, Risler bade me bring you
out to dinner; the carriage is at the door, and we
wili take him up as we pass his office."
Then, with a half smile, she added :
"You will let us have him, Zizi, will you not?
vVe will return him to you."

And he went with her-without once lookino.
back, swept away by his passion as by a furious sea";
and neither that day nor the following one did
poor little Zizi hoar the words which had been on
her lover's lips.

CIIAPTEE lY.

THE WAITING-ROOM.

" T LOVE you— I love you more than ever— and
forever! Why struggle longer? Our passion ia
stronger than ourselves. We were destined for
each other; is it a crime to fulfill our destiny?
Come, then. To-morrow night, at the Lyon" sta-
tion, I shall expect jou; be punetu u— ten o'clock
— the tickets will la taken^ mh\ I sliail watch for

jou.

F.KAN'

TZ.

For a whole month Sidoji?6 Uiid. expected this
letter- for a montli she had ry>ii^ht to induce her
brovher-iii-law to place on paper tliis written expres-
sion of hifc passion. It was not easy to pervert this
young heart, naturally so frank and honest. When
she believed Lim nearly subjugated, his sense of
right conquered, and he was ready to fiy from her
forever. Therefore, when this letter was handed to
her one morning, she was very triumphant. Ma-
dame Dobson was there ; she had come laden with
complaints from George.

" Ah, the poor fellow ! " said the sentimental
American ; " if you could but see how unhappy he
is I " And while she spoke she untied her music.

THE WAITING-ROOM.

161

where 8he had carefully hidden his letterT^ly too
dehghted to have any part in this love-a&ir, Aere

lehed. Singularly enough, while Madame Dobson
had no objection to carrying love-letter^ to and fro.
she Imd never written or received one herself.

f. -n r" ^!u°",'^ *°^^'' '"''■ b'-other-in-law's letter
to Dobscm the latter said, "And what did you an-
ewer ? " j •» au

' 1 tt, ' — neither more nor less ! "
« What ! Do you mean to run away with this
madman?" Sidonie laughed contemptuously.
_ • ISot p.ecisely. I said ' Yes,' so that he might

v."; Tt f ' f '"^ay-station. He deserves at
least a half-hour of suspense. He has made me
miserable for a month. I have changed all my daily
hfe and habits I closed my doors on my friendj
beginning with George and finishing with yourself:
for you know, my dear, that he was even out of
conceit with you."

But Sidonie did not say that her strongest rea-
son for her growing dislike of her brother-in-law
was, that he had terrified her by threats of expos-
ure to her husband. Ever since that day in the
summer-house, she had felt ill at ease in his presence,
and was haunted by a constant wonder as to wh-t
he would do should he ever learn the truth in regard
to her. These cold, fair men often have fearful
tempers-not tempers that are easily aroused, per-
haps, but they remind one of those dangerous ex-
""" "'" without color or odor, that one

plosivo mixtui-es.

1G2

SIB ON IE.

I i

» it
I ill

IM -

fears to meddle with, because no one knows their
full power. She shivered with dread as she tlioiight
that the evil day might be near at hand. Of her
former life she had preserved various strange tales
of dishonored homes, enraged husbands, and deeds
of revenge. Visions of death haunted her waking
hours as well as her dreams; and death, its eternal
repose, its profound silence, terrified this poor, shrink-
ing little creature, absorbed in pleasure, mad for
excitement and amusement. This unfortunate let-
ter put an end to all these fears; now it was impos-
sible for Frantz to denounce her, even in a moment
of rage, for he had placed a powerful weapon in her
hand. The moment he opened his lips, that mo-
ment she would produce his letter, and all his accu-
sations would seem to Risler the merest calumnies.
She was radiant with delight; she threw her win-
dows wide open to the sun a.id air, and at once
issued multitudinous orders to cook and gardener.
Her house must be made delightful, for was not
George coming again ? She made her arrangements
for a large dinner at the end of the week. One
would have thought that she had returned home
after a month's seclusion in a convent, so eager was
she for movement and life.

The next evening, Sidonie, her husband, and
Madame Dobson, were together in the salon. Eis-
ler sat drawing at the table, while his wife sang at
the piano to Madame Dobson's accompaninrent.
Suddenly she stopped in the middle of a bar and
laughed aloud. The clock was strikim? ten- Ri«]er

THE WAITINO-ROOM.

163

, J.OO

looked up in astonisLment. ^•WL^TiTk"^;;:;^

<>nd so an.using % " he asked "' ^°''

clock. It was ;L r .amedS T""/" "'«
«t the station ; and she w s « "nk^'of ^.'"T™"

2t;.ion,,,at,o™in..„;;-i£:-^;::

hi-n. The die" a cj ' d V' ?' ""'"'^ '"''

possible. He arrorf '*'*'■"" ^"^ "^^

i^ . iic argued no more with himoolf . v

consaenee seemed hardened and seared Tr! ', ,
made all Ws arrangements-emntt/V- ""''f''"':!^
Bent off his trunks^and thl Z'titZlr''";

;r;,:otSdTeeSrbu;r"-"^^
tf-.ht of his brX?;!:r rc- " r°

tins was^to eome later, hut was now of S ; ef "

1 Jh ^ !^ ^ "^ '"'•' °^ «" unknown tropical
W.d where they themselves were unknown Tame
to .n toxica e and bewilder him. Two ho„rK r^
->^ nme lor his train, F„.ntz was at the" station

l'fl

It! I

164

SJDONIE.

— tliG drearicBt of all in Paris, the Lyons. IIo
Beatcd hlmsclt in the darkest corner, and sat as if
carved out of stone; but his brain was as ac-
tive as ever, although he asked himself several
times where ho was going, and for whom he was
waiting. Mechanically he looked about, though far
too early yet to expect Sidoiiie. In a hfllf-hour, in
fifteen minutes, he niiglit begin to - . ., her.

Then began that horrible expectation tliat racks the
nerves of the strongest. Poets have written of it,
most of us have felt it. But to pass such moments
in a dreary railway-station, with a noise of open-
and shutting doors, a constant trani]) of feetl The
sense of the hurry and confusion is inexpressibly
depressing. Frantz stood v atching the carriages as
they stopped at the plattorm. The doors ^'were
opened and noisily closed, while the faces of the oc-
cupants of the carriages were momentarily visible
under the light of the lantern that hung from above.
A lady closely veiled, a young girl with her fa-
ther, an elderly woman with her maid, but no Si-
donie. Then he went outside, n ^t being able to en-
dure the heated atmosphere within. It was a damp
evening in September ; a light fog imparted to the
carriage-lamps a far-away look ; but none of the
carriages contained Sidonie. The hour for the dc -
parture of the train was close at ham. He ran tu
the ticket-office. " Two tickets for Marseilles I " Ob-
taining them, he returned to his po ot of observation
At last he saw her ; yes ! in black— it was her figure ;
and with her was another woman, still smaller—

•^.if^

THE WAITINO-ROOM.

semblance to'siao: V^'r^X T'"" '^
Fnrntz, and 1,„ saw the.n ent r t, "" 1^'^ ''"^^^

^-ea. At this r:s :;;::; j;r:--

by the great faHu JorJ:;^! e[ ri f-T'
mont & i&ler' won't susJr^T^^''^
a- never ve^ J^l iL.ft JT. "'"''"
going to shut tho: gate - » ^~"'^^ '""«

The'^Sn'^'T' *r -J'--"-'-] sentences,
that prel ^':„.r''^ »'*' "^^ <"«*-'>ed him at
The ten-o'cIocK train puffed out of the sta

man seated himself Tl,« k i, i „ ^°™«

put inoderfor t e„e?L t'*'' ^"^ ''''"^
aome volumes that he had tf". • T^"''='^'^

Sourofl, Tl

K„ _

^IX'

is deprived of this

re-

w-omau wlio sells her toys at the

166

SIDONIE.

oorner wraps l.crself in an oH simwl and goee away.
TLe day was over for all theBu people. The thought
of the long hours of wakef uluess to come reminded
him of the well-known room whoso shaded light
fell on a table covered with minute birds ; but this
v,s,on comes and goes-ami leaves no sign behind.
biKldenly he lound that he was dying of thirst. The
cafe was open ; he wont in ; but, just as he lifted
his glass to his lips, the notion that Sidonie was
waitmg for him, alone in the darkness ,utside, took
such violent possession of his nnnd, that he rushed
out leavmg his money and the untouched glass on
the table. °

She will not come. What nad happened ? Who
had detamed her 3 Was she ill, or was she over-
whelmed by remorse} iJut in that case she would
have sent Dobson. Perhaps Risler had found the
letter, bidoiue was so careless.

While buried in these reflections the night wore
on ; the distant buildings whitened, and became dis-
tinct.^ What should he do ? He would go at once to
Asmeres, and find out the truth. The morning was
ehi ly, and, as he hurried across the city, he saw a
little crowd of working-people gathered about a
placard on the wall. Ah! had he but stopped to
read it, he would have been saved many a pang of
self-reproach. ^ r 6 "

_^ Two or three hours later, when he reached As-
meres the sun had risen. The bridge and the wharf
all had that fresh, clean look that gives one the
indehnable impression of a new day. He saw his

THE WAITING-ROOM.

167

brother's houao, with its open wiudous and flowers
on tbe balcony. He wandered al^out some time,
before he ventured to enter the grounds.
^ Suddenly, some one spoke to him. It was Sido-
nies coachman. " Good-morning, Afaster Frantz.
lou are up bright and early this morning! »

"Any news at the house T' asked the youiiff
man, trembling. °

" No, sir ; nothing."

" Is my brother at Iiome ? "

" No, sir ; my master slept in tow^n."

" Is there anybody ill ? "

"Nobody that I know of," answered the coach-
man, somewhat astonished.

Then Frantz rang at the small door. He heard
bidome s voice, notwithstanding the early hour.

fehe spoke eagerly.

"No-no cream-let the sherbet be well frozen,
and be punctual-seven o'clock precisely." She was
evidently deep in consultation with her cook; but
the unexpected apparition of her brother-in-law did
not disturb her in the least.

" Ah I Frantz ! " she said, tranquilly. - 1 shall be
at liberty in a few moments. We have a large dinner-
party to-morrow; you have no objection, I trust?"
l^resh and smiling, in her loose white dressing-
gown and dainty lace cap, she continued to arrange
her dinner. On her face was not the slightest trace
of anxiety or of sleeplessness. Her smooth brow
and half-parted rosy lips offered a strange contrast
xAj aei iKj\K^ro Haggard iace.

168

SIDONIE.

Certamly I did ; what then ? » She had risen

a d hi " I . '• "'!? '""'*'"'"'^' "« ''^'^ '"™«d tow-
ard b>m . I received your letter, and was dehVhted

Z7t:V'\ ""r"^"" f-1 any inelSn '
carry to your brother any of the reports with whinh
you hav. frightened me, I will prove to hL ^at

a love that I rejected with horror and couteinpi Be
warned, my dear-and farewell!'' ^

Happy as an actress who has made a great hit

And f i'r "T' » '"^^ -"« - >>- £

ADd he did not kill her I

■^at^

CHAPTEE V.

THE SEINE.

fy left In. mnZZiS:z'zi \f •»"'■

^ome, and threw hUnLli into aT I- °„th 7"°*

18 tlie matter ? » ''^ i^araened, what

countenance drew HnZ i • T^ P'^^ "* '"'«

it IS certain," he aaid « fhof +i -r*. ,
selfish and iin^rratpfnl f ' ^^^^ /^^^se Rislers are
^ ungratetui to say nothing nf *].«• -n
manners. What /i^ ,, .*^ ", ""^ ^* "^eir ill-

That FrkntrHl'Ar *^" Vft'7 •^■""' T^ '
word of farewell tn Zll -T ^"^ ''"''O'" «

for all the h'StalitT^aT' f " ""^ "*■ ''"'"''''
this humble r^f WW i •"*' '^'^'^"'^'^ ""der
Madame n.L T '^'^ ^'"^ *'""°'' "^ t''^' « "
T^anTf!^!'!"^ J'"'^-'! an exclamation of

regret

and surDrifift wri^n^

— '7

pour Dublr(*e neither

170

8ID0NIE.

BMe nor moved. The wire sLe held did not trem-

m<I.-o'!lT'^i'fr ^/'^^^'•^^<J tWs last liumiliation?"
TeSe tl T " 'T " r ''"^ °^ '- P>«~ to
in grcrih "'' ''"'' '"' '■^^"''^'1 ''^ t'^^ --Id

WarrtooTn ""'^ '^^'-^ '<> Sir'
in lact the poor follow was this time sincere • I,«

nut beside this surface sorrow humed and throhl.pri
an angmsh so deep_a pain so keen-that wo dtS
to describe it; and yet the mother did nTd^eZ
of n Look at your child, Madame Dolobelle ! Look
at that transparent cheek-tliose brillh,.t t i
eyes ■ Draw your child's head to'o'ur Sg Wt"
I^t her weep m your arms, bo that her eye", veTed
kv tears cannot distinguish the distant obeir on
which she has fixed her despairing gaze 1 ^

Ihere are some women in whom the mother ex
tinguishes the wife ; with others, the wife ext^

fo'tlir, r "f '"• ^^"^-^ I>olobeIle belontd

W d 2\'''"'; T°"'"P'"=- "^^ husband !he
tancied that her daughter's mission in life wL t„

wiiims. iJie two had but one aim in Ufa f^ ^ -i

Sltt^T?"''^'-^"'"-''--''^"^

IS wasted and unappreciated talents. Never Imd
h^r mother seen the rosy flush that tinted ZiS
cbeek when Frantz entered their work-roomT^

. 171

the sweet subterfuges of her daiiM.M, * " '

utterance of his name ove S J ■"''" ""

had been unnoticed. Never had 1?'"^' ^""^
in anxiety the Ion. htrl "n ^ ™^^
eame .nbidden to the eyes of the ;!",,?'; J'J

member leams to suppress Wsou?^ T"'' '"'-*
dure siieut,, rathorTa: X ^ Md Vv" p"
useless complaiut« ; and may I ask iZ „ . ^
the sad dra„.a that darkened the f;'o'"'l'rrT'
could interest that great man, he fethe^H f '

sX rd^riizr^^ ^■■"''^- '- ^-^ '^-

Icnew that sheTa: n^ n^XVTnd'S ^l^^'^
wlio Iier rival was ^T.o .1 i ' ^"^'''' ^^^»

«the.sheo:,;:ked^tr::;nih"^^^^^^^

dark cell L ; , ''""demned crimin. ' h, «

e.;.-ne^, J:,^ £?a,r:hat^s,rt- Ar.;^ :t

" cy of 1 J^r.'"^"^ '«"■•« l'«d dimn.ed tl^ brill
wl'lflT]--' . "«^ >.erm:;,d ald'lS; '

ft'< M

■?**ij

u x-aiis, liope did not altoc^ether deserf >,«».
feiie heard his sfpn in f i.« • i uesert her.

not look Imppy. Why should he? she thonlh
d;U he not worship a wo.nan whom it was a sX
J..m even to think of? That he wourd retn™ t

Ler some day, sore and crushed, and aTk W fn
some oil into his wounds. *° P""'

But now she had been told thit r-a^f, i j

f r o7' aT v-^' - ' -'• n 'h:r etX'

m: .T":^' ''''"'''^'•^' *"d n"^ of a frifnd'fl'

Where could she turn for aid in this terrible hour
Hern,other would not understand her, and would
beg her not to disturb her father

Sidonie 1 Alas I she knew now that she had hot
ter hope for consolation from her little hMa)
expressionless eyes drove her mad'S^^Sjl s^
8ta,e Her work no longer interested her her
hands were as weary as her heart 1 Who bu W
Father above could aid her now? Alas I »I ! 1a
not even think of him. ^''^ "^"^

In Pari»-in those narrow, dinev strPPf»_fi
blue heavens seem so f,, „ , ^^ streets— the

THE SEINE.

chair, .,.„e W moIX..??"'"^ '» ''«-
fotlier recited a Ion.. mJ^'^^ ."""'■' ""^ ''^r

t"do of human mtu e S^ T "'' ''"' '"^'•"«-
shonld do. ' ^'■^ '^^'^^ on what she

^-r,:-„:::;;; ----^-o -0. ^o ...0..

<'onld c,..|.y abont wifl, l!; i P""''''""' ""»' *e

with..erhLdiS'anh-.Jf..-nherpoeW,
l>e :*i.re, the window ooonin^ * '""^ ^"8- *<>

Ijer mangled rem lin, Ji ^'"'* "^ seeini.

P'-- Nothing, then'wlltft tu ° r''"^"'-»'' "-'
^''te^ might carry her o fl off t'."?'"' ^^""^
never be seen again. *' *''« '^ouU

She shivered as slit tliouffht of fl, •
WM not with fear of th« TTK ■ . '" ''"'«'■' ^nt it
"-Bian ynW^. thinks I 1 /^' '^"^ ^•^'«'-8; " ?«-
J>er shawl over "r held V f"" ^''^ """''1 "'row
iJue Bho would h V tot' ,r ^'r r"'^ "«' 'e'' it.

«i'-ndi2t::,-':::::::'T'^''>-o^-.o.

comfortably, and th«n .J" ."7'l'"^ ^'-^c'" dine-I

174

SIDONIE.

first ascertaining tliat he had some money about him

for emergencies.

" The dear man made a good dinner," said his

wife, " and I am glad of it, for lie needed it."

"Yes, tliat will be terrible to go alone into tho
street; I must wait until the gas is all out in the
corridors, and when mj mother is asleep I will creep
down the stairs, and out into the street, where I
shal meet men that will stare at me, and perhaps
speak to me 1 " r i"»

This timidity D&ir4e had felt since childhood.
For, when she was little, and was sent of an errand,
the children in the street had mocked her, and fol-
owed her as she limped along. Now, she feared
the omnibuses and carriages ; the river was so far
off-how tired she would be I But there was no
otiier thmg for her to do.

"I am going to bed, my child-how much lon-
ger do you mean to sit up ? "

With her eyes on her work, D^sir^e answered
that she must finish her twelfth bird.
. "Good-night, then," said her mother, whose fail-
mg siglit could not bear the bright light " I have
put your father's supper by tho fire-look at it the
last thing."

Dcsir6e had told the truth. She meant to finish
the dozen, so that her father could take the work
home in the morning ; and no one would have sup-
posed, who looked in on Ht peaceful scene, thlt
withm hat httle blond head so fatal an idea was
developing itself.

TUE SEU-E.

176
The bird was finished-a^onderful bwl^o
wings were green, like tl>. deep sea, and whose

Plated t:l '?; " 'r'"^ ^""p''''^- ^'- -X

needleful of sdk was gathered «p-the ,,ins and

r'Sirl M "'' "'^'"'°"- She turned' th .2
tha held her father's supper, and lowere.l the lanm
so that e.e.7thing should wear its ordina,; llj
linall^, Desiree took a small shawl from the ward
robe, and went calmly forth, without one lo^k at
her sleepmg mother; for at last, i„ this snpeme
moment, she fully understood to wl a aTlfl*

f.om her father would console her mother. A\'hen
one voluntanly chooses death, it is with a cry
agamst the .njustice of man, and the pitilesLss "^

At last, she is in the street. All is quiet in this
sec uded quarter ; but on the boulevarl there re
Bt.ll „o.seand hghts. DesircJe walked quickly, with
her Shaw drawn about her slight fig,„; ^^^Z
looking to the right or the left, she went strS
on. The wmd blew in her face, and the air fel
riamp as ,f u came from the river, which seeme '
■tself to recede as little Zi.i advanced

on }\f ^''" Tl ^ " ''"''""'''"^ ^"^ """"■'•K along
on tie ground, dragging its broken win-., seeking

only some shelter where it n,ay die in pe.? eT 1)|

.., - -••",7 ^^^ ill

little figure and hesitating walk

recalled ir»trnliint^Q,.:i„

would have

-V ^o joiir nam the i

mage of

176

SID ON IE.

i •

11 ;

\m\

this wounded bird. And to think that, on tlie same
night, ahno8t at the same hour, and among tlie same
streets, anotlier person wandered, equally unhappy
equally desperate I If they could have met--i/
she, without looking up, had stopped him, and said,
loll me, if you please, sir, the way to the Seine ? »
and he would have exclaimed, « Mademoiselle Zizi !
m the name of wonder, why are you out at this hour ? "
--she would have burst into tears, and he would
have wrapped her about with his strong arms, and
told her that he needed her for a comforter and a
guide. But meetings like these, in spite of all that
poets say, do not often happen in real life, and real
life 18 a hard mistress; and when sometimes such a
very slight thing would turn bitterness into joy, she
sternly refuses to grant that trifle. In this melan-
choly truth is to be found the reason why romances
ot real life are always sad.

Street after street, then a square, and, finally a
stone bridge and the river-an autumnal fog hun^
over It— and it was here that she meant to die She
felt so httie, so desolate, in this great city, it seemed
to Desir^e that she was already dead. She went
toward the bridge, when suddenly an odor of fresh
flowers, of wet moss, and damp earth, came to her.
She stood still. On the very edge of the sidewalk
lay a bundle of shrubs, their roots tied up in moss;
and a number of flower-pots, each in its paper,
showed that they were in readiness for the early
market The women sat by, enveloped in shawls,
and half asleep. Chrysanthemums of all colors.

. _^ 177

mignonette, and roses, filled tI^^^~^r^rT~-— '
cate perfume. ^"" *"®^^ deli-

I^oor little DArivAo f Ti
the memory ofW blf^' '"^ ^°^' "^ '""■^°""''
all rushed over her 1, '''",?^ "■'"' ''«' ^°^«>-,
tliese flower" sl ,"''"'"'' «"^"^ ''"-""gl

she enjoyed foVrfiJ, ?f "' °* ^'''""•«' """

ber?" the flowers eeeld ft " T" '«"'«'"-

gently toward he" ^< Ah 1° ?' "' ^''7 «"»>-l
answered, with a va.,n„c-?' , '^«'»e'n''er ! " she
, » itu a vague smile on lier mriish lin«

She remembered only too well AfT, .
the wharf the little figure stons at »l . ^""^ °^
lead down to the boats ^ "'P' '"'"'='>

Presently loud erics were h^,..,! .
and down the wharf. " Q^ ek I blip ''l" ", • "'^
man and a sailor appear ao l.v L • ."^ P°'"=^-

A boat, carrying a 1^2^ • ^ f^'f °" ""^ «««"«•
TiJ fl ^ 'antern, is pushed off.

one?ther:r;ir^^ *" '°r- ^"^ whe«

the woman at the coieelT' "'"' *'" '"''*'^'- ''•
is a woman ^■hoh^l^TtjTfV''^'"^^' "^'
water." •" '' '"'*"' *«''«d out of the

return to their seats rn??' • <'°"""--">erchant3
"" ''^At^ir seats and doze airain nnrl r^« fi ^

serted wharf the chrysanthemum ■' • ''"^ ''"

rV2

uu.

shiver in the cool

I : f I

178

81D0AJF.

Ah, poor girl I You thought It an easy, ,:vnTAe
thing to dlBappear out of life. You did not know
that, instead of bearing you swiftly away, the river
would reject yon, and condemn you to all the shame
and suspicion that must neee-sarily belong to your
future life. First came the police-statioh, with its
dirty benches, and its floor as wot and muddy as the
streets themselves. There U^^sir^e must spend the
night. They had placed her on a camp-bed, before
the tiro, charitably replenished on her account, the
excessive heat of which soon made her wet clothincr
steam. Where was she ? She hardly knew. Men
were asleep all about, and the frightful oaths of two
dnmken prisoners in' the next room horrified her.
Kear her crouched a woman in rags— she was mad—
a poor creature who harmed no one, but who nodded
her head constantly, and kept saying: ''Ah, yes,
misery— you may well say so ! Ah, yes, misery—"
And this melancholy refrain, uttered in such a scene,
made the poor child feel as if she should go mad
herself. She closed her eyes, that ^.lu^ might not see
this melancholy personification of iter c-wn despair.

At last daylight pervaded the laroe room. Zi'zi
awoke suddenly, threw off the covering, and rose,
determined, notwithstanding her fatigue and a burn-
ing fever, to escape from this place and from the
eyes that watched her.

"Gentlemen," she said, timidly, "let me go
home to my mother."

Hardened, as they were, by the constant occur-
rence of such dramas, the good men understood

TIIJ! SEIXB.

^ 1T9

tb«t tl>ey now h«,3 (o ,Ieal will, a ease totally out of

homo yet- .hey ,„„st first ol.tain per>„i«sion. A
camago «a,, ordered, out of pity for her- fort
cunous c-owd had gathered at the .loor, to ee h
.ttle la,„e g,r appear. Sh, „■„, j,.ive„ to the 1

r;ir'erV"'r .','" '"-^^ -- *'-.-n'^

hnt with cheeks red with sha.ne and fever The
judge hardly looked up fro.n his paper.

Ah! he said t. D&irde, "it is you, then?"
Ihe pohcenian began to read his report: "At -.

twenty.four, a maker of artitieial flower, re idt
with her parents, at No. - Rue de Bmnue at
S' whit"'"' by throwing herself into tlfs;i,";

The judge divided his attention between th!«
«port and his finger-nails, .hi.h ho was earef III
^r mm,ng, gave an oeeaslonal shrug of his shoulder
with the air of a man who says, « What else oo„1,I
one e.xpect ?" At the end he fu'rned lit „ "S
aforeBa.d Dolobelle, and admonished her in well!
turned periods. "It was infamous," he sa"l " t
was eowardee, to do what she had done fwh
had driven her to such madness ? »

told, in such a presence, the sad story of her love
and her sorrow ? She murmured, with puje IpT

(^^^^

M \Ji.

mg with cold, " I do not know

aii patienco witli what he

regarded as

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180

SID ON IE.

j i

willful obstinacy, the judge finally gave her permis-
Bion to go homo, first extorting from her the prom-
lie that she would not repeat her attempt at suicide,
bhe entered the carriage, but her martyrdom was
not yet over. The policeman who was with her
was too kind, and, v.hen he took her hand, the
tnghtened girl retreated to the comer of the vehi-
cle m tears ; and, when she reached her home she
saw a crowd about the door. The startliu<. intelli-
gence had preceded her, and the neighborhood was
in a wild state of excitement. At first they had
heard only of her disappearance. Had she eloped
with Frantz Eisler? Uolobclle himself had run
down the street at an early hour, without any hat:
and t\i^ concierge, going up at once to their room,
found Madame Dolobelle half crazy. In vain had
the poor mother looked for some trace of her
danghter-something, however t.-ifling, that would
tlirow a light on her departure.

She remembered, too late, her child's silence and
iassitudo ; the depression of the last month, follow-
ing so quickly on her previous gayety ; and she re-
membered that for days she had not spoken of

*^|Do not weep," her husband said ; "I will find
iier» 1

And the poor woman wandered throuo-h her
rooms, and out into the corridor, to look from the
window; she preferred to stand there and watch,
for Desiree s vacant chair seemed to breathe silent
reproaches.

3 I

•f 5

mir^

TUB SEINE.

181

Suddenly a carriage stopped, and vo.ce? f,'^
beiou- ealed o l,er: "Yorr daughter is here, Ma-
dame Bolol.elle, safe and sound ! "

It was indeed VXA whom she met ascending
l.e stan-s, pal. and half faintiug, assisted hv an m"

vrnV"' ^""'° ^" "'""'"■' "" ^"■' ""''^■''

"I>o not be frightened," she said, "itisnothin.. "
Her mother ran toward her, lifted her child in her
arms, as if she had been a baby, covered her with
kisses and overwhelmed her with loving reproac.hes.
_ My darl.ng!" cried tl,e mother, "tell nx- that
It IS not true that you tried to kill vourself. What is
your secret sorrow ? Trust your inother, my child I »
And looking at her, D&ir& saw that Madame
Dolobelle had aged by ten years. The anxiety and
sorrow of the last few hours had told sadly on her
feeble frame. And Zizi thought herself unloved '-
and that she could slip out of the world unnoticed
and unmi-^ed!

^ MVlieii I saw your bed undisturbed this morn-
ing said her mother between her hysterical sobs,
and tlien found you were not in tlie work-room I
famtedaway. Are you warm now ? Do you fee]
better?" And she took the slender, ice-cold £:!
mto her bosom to warm them.

Desir^e in the long days 'of delirium that fol-
lowed lived over and over agaia each event of that
hornble n.ght : if she fell asleep, she woke with a

i X .<

Start, and cned aloud to her mother, " Hide
mamma, hide me — I am ashamed ! "

mel

182

8ID0NIE.

^ The judge, had lie been there, would have been
quite certain that Zizi would never make a second
attempt at suicide. But a longing for death, rest,
and peace, was to be read on her pale face, and
"the aforesaid Dolobelle'' knew that she would not
have long to wait.

The physicians called the disease of which she
would die pneumonia; but the girl knew better:
yet it was not a broken heart that killed her. K"o;
since that night the girl had thought no more of
Frantz, and considered herself alike unwortliy of
loving or of being loved; for her pure life was
stained and soiled. !

Each feature of that frightful tragedy stood out
clear in her memory. Her being dragged from the
water amid that crowd of rough men ; her sleep of
exhaustion at the police-station ; the vulgar songs she
had heard ; the melancholy words of that mad woman
sitting in the red light of the stove ; the worthless
creatures with whom she had mingled; the sneers of
some, the impertinences of others, and the familiar-
ities of the policeman who had brought her home-
all had forever destroyed her maidenly reserve and
womanly purity. Even her lameness was another
feature in her martyrdom, and she fancied the judge
in the court-room saying to himself as he looked at
her, « The idea of a girl like that having the pre-
sumption to love any man, and to kill herself because
he would not love her in return ! "

She was simply dyi.ig of shame. In the long
nights of feverish delirium, she repeated, without

THE SEINE.

183

a .noment's cessation-" I am ^'^^^^^^^^
ashamed " An,l, when she was somewliat eah„er
she won d cower under the coverings, as if to liide
or bnry lier.self from all Inunan eve»

Kear Desirfe's bed, or at th^ win.low, sat Ma-
dmne Dolobe le, busily at work, for it is om of the
nnsenes o the poor that they have not time to
gneye They must toil on, even in the shadow of
l.e death thatis hourly drawing nearer to those they
ove. Ihe rich can encompass themselves about
uth then- sorro.vs; but the poor cannot. I once
knew an old woman who in the same year lost her
daughter and her husband-two terrible Mows, the
one after the other; but she had a large family to
care for, aua a farm to mauage. From s-,,nrise to sun-
set she was busy, overseeing and directing. « But
Sundaj^," said the widow to me-" Sundays. I am
Iiappy. ' And what was this woman's idea of hap-
piness? .t was that in the loneliness of her room she
could pass the day on her knees, praying and weep-
iiig for her lost husband and child.

But Madame Dolohelle had not even her Sun-
day. Remember that she was the only one to earn
bread for h.r family, and her firigers were not so
dexterous as her daughter's. Medicines were expen-
sive and she could not deprive her husband of one
of his comforts. Thus, at whatever hour the -irl
opened her eyes, she beheld her mother at work ; and
when the curtains of her bed were drawn, she heard
the httle metallic click of the scissors
la"

la on the table.

;oy were

184

SWONIE.

Seeing her mother's fatigue was one of D&ir^e's
grea es sorrows. « Give me some work," she wou d

se ,g m th,s wi.h an indication of returning inter

lorm , but the needle was too heavy, the eves too
weak, and the street-eries brought bfk to XZ
the memory of the narrow lanes through which fhe
had wandered " that night."
No, she had no wish to live.
The mother looked at her pale child. « Are vou
comfortable?" she asked. ^i-re you

"Perfectly so," said the girl, and a faint smile
flickered over her sad face, showing all the rawes
made by her illness and grief, as the^ o s.^Hlt
creepmg mto the dwellings of the poor, inl d of
bngh emng them, only brings out their desolation

She should weep aloud ; and the daughter, stupefied
by fever, was already wrapped in the shadow of aS
proaebmg death. ^^

The illustrious Dolobelle was rarely there Tr«
had not changed his daily habits in Ae smallS

was dy mg ; the physician had told him so. Had £
oved h,s child-but in this singular natu^ the
trues and most natural emotions acquired a certSta
«>e,-etnc,ous air; in the same way thlt, if a pTal d
lirrkedTr ^ - ^ -^"' -^ -^ on it
Dolobelle aired his grief, and played with sue-

THE SEINE.

. 185

cess the part of a broken-hearted fathor "7j '

]«« 1 „ wiiue macs, bieached under o-l<i«a

leaves and flowers alike white and ghostlv

each dlv'»f? "'"'''' *°° '"""'''" ^'^'<1 'h« sick girl

Pnf ^ ^ ^ ^" Madame DolobplJo

SS' eltr '^°'"P''"-""-' «- poor woman tho'^ t

^usband. TIi.s contempt for money tilled her witl.
admiration, and she was more impressed than Z
with a belief in his talents "^^ "^^^

l>isSste"iirnr'V'".*'f "°'"-"f"' •— of
-fJ^fptoISi

-S^ss^^tSf-dt;-;^-^^

ve 7 much bettei-with her fever all gone He d^d

"^ra?r.-:i~V^-*''-^»^e,n;riidte

- ^ae ..^i^.uvuiiienr was more than temporary.

not
sav

186

SI DON IE.

"Let us wait," he said, gravely, hoping that it .night

yon I Ilail ho looked nnder Desiree's pillow he
would liave found a lette.. post-,narked "Cairo'"!
four pages, signed by Frautz-fo,.r pages „f con-
fession and explanation.

of in Z! 1 '""""Lf 'f ',«« *" ^ict girl had drean,ed
of in past days. Had she herself dictated its words
^.e eonld not have found any so tender and W^'
Every h,ng that could soothe her wounds, and spa™
i.er dehcacy, was there. JFe implored l^r pa lo ,

to w^hieh he had been exposed, and all his strug,.les
He bade Desir6e to distrust Sidonie; and, «^S a
clearness of perception born of his fo^er 'p si
he described her heartlessness, her untruthfulnes"'
and her total lack of principle. "l^"J"css,

"ad that letter reached Zizl but a few days
earl.er ! Now all its tenderness was like food bro.S

smells t, but cannot swallow it. Over and ovei-
again he sick girl read this letter. She drew i
from the envelope, kissed it lovingly, Tnd eT-e

color of the stamp. Frantz had not foro-otten her I

luSr T,7'l^^ 'f ''' ^--^ '^^^ ^-"^

before in f T ^ '^^ '''°'^^' «»'^' «« ^'^ ^^-^
Detore, in a most extraordinary state ; she felt ill

BJendeiest thread. It was night, and the room in
which she lay was in shadow. The lamp, half tu^ed

THE SEINE.

18 7

dow„ ligl.ted only tlie scattered work-table a"i^
poor Madame Dolobelle's sleeping face
. .I^^''"''^-^;^ whole past ea,ne back to ber : forgotten
cedents of her cbildl,ood; scenes that, at the ti ne

The child vvas bewildered, bnt not terrified. She
did not know that, very often, death is beral.led bv
jns^t such excessive excitement of sleeping facul-

She saw her father through the open door. Her

all the traces of years of misery and of toil were
Visible on her worn face. During the day Ih '
Wire, in a measure, masked by the will and by con-
stant occupatio.i ; but sleep b,-ought tlieni out. The
deep wrinkles and reddened eyelids, the scanty hair
-already white on the ten.ples-were all to be'^seen,
and Desi,-ee saw the,n »11. How she lo.iged for

S ; '"^l^^r *° '"■" ^™y ^'' 'hose wrinkles I
Do obelle oftered the strongest possible contrast.
With a napkin thrown over his knee, he sat eating
his supper, and at the same time rcacUng his news-
paper. For the first time in her life, D<:.^r^e noticed
this contrast between her father and mothei-: her
mother in her scanty black dress, thin and haggard ;
her father, wearing a new coat, hale and hearty
and she understood the difference in their lives and
natures. Tlie at.nospliere of habit, which weakens
he vision of children, had vanished for her; she
«. *- ""v n cxc iiui LJLieir aaugiiter.

^ 'f\\

188

s/Doy/E.

■ i I

ilHn

What

gOMO ?

and then

to work liimself, permit her to

would become
Would
wouli

of her mother wJien she
[itieutly toil on, until worn .
her selfish companion, too indol

was

worn out,

e'lt

starve ? And yet ho

-, ^ ..I, .1^;^ ^^^J wuirve f And vof- Im

m Sh l. , '"'• f """'• ^'"^ f^ to arouse
I'lni i blioud she try and tear away the thick band

age wuh which l,er father had for so LZy Z^

or ow^^ Ut could attempt such a delicate opera-
t.on She alone had the right to say to him :

C^'ve up tl,e,e foolish dreams of a theatric,!

part of the n.ght too, at some honest trade."
invl.- T',"" f'" '^"'•' ^'"^'^^'^ *« ''««ten by some

"Papa, papa!"

excited. He entered his daughter's room with a
beammg face, and a camellia i„\is button-holT
JN ot asleep yet, Zizi ? "
And his words were said so lio-htlv tTiof fi.
resounded strangely i„ that sad and 1^ It^
Des.ree „,ade a sign to him to be quiet, and pohted
to her sleeping mother. pointed

" <^°»e here, I want to spsak to vou " «)■» ^T.-
pered Her voice trei„bled,'and W ^We ly-oplned
eyes had a strange, far-away look. ^ ^

THE SEINE.

189

Somewhat startled, he bent over her, witli his
cameUia in In's hand.

"What is it, my dear ? Do you feel worse ? »
JA'siree sliook her Iiead, but beckoned him to come
nearer; she laid her hot hand on his, and whispered
that slie was ill, and had not long to live "Then
papa, you will be alone with mamma. Do not trem!
ble-I am not afraid for myself, but I dread lest
manmia should not be strong, enough to do every-
tiling. Look, how pale she is I "

The actor turned, and seemed astonislied at the
sad face he saw.

This selfish reply, and, above all, the tone in
wliich It was made, confirmed D^>siree in her in-
tention.

"What will become of you both when I am not
here? Yes I know, you have gi'eat hopes and ex-
pectations, hut they will never he realized. Dear
father, I do not wish to hurt your feelings, but it
seems to me that, at your age, with your intelligence
you ought to be doing something. Mr. Eislcrri am
sure would-" She spoke slowly, j.oosing her
words with care, and waiting a moment after each
sentence ; but the actor did not yet g,-asp her mean-
ng He listened intently, with a vague consciousness
that he was being accused of something; but of
what, he had no idea.

"I think," continued D^sir^e, timidly, "that it
Would bfi fp — -•- ..... •" '"''"'

» 't,

■ XijT^i \,\j X

ciincjuitiii — '

190

SII)0N1E.

" Wliat ? "

Sho stoppc'l, astonislied at the efTect of Iier
words ; for tears, real tears, rone to her fatlier's
eyes. He iiiideistood her now. Of the only two
admirers left to him l,y a cruel fate, one had now
deserted him I His child no longer believed in
liini I It was not possible ! iJefore the mute en-
ti-eaty of his gaze, Desiree's courage fled ; besides
lier strength was exhausted. '

She murmured, " Give up-givenp-" Her head
fell back on her pillows, and she died, without hav-
ing dared to say what she wished him to give up.

The « aforesaid Dolobelle " is dead. Sir Judge I
Slie told you that she would never again make an
attempt at suicide, and she did not break her word.
This time Death came to her, and took her away.'
And now, incredulous judge, you may accept the
evidence of four stout oak-planks instead of her
childish assurances.

Desiree's death made a sensation in the neigh-
borhood. JSTot that she was so great a favorite, for
she went out rarely, and was comparatively little
known. But, of course, at her burial, there would
be a great many actors, and Paris adores that class.
It likes to see them in the street, off the stage ;
it likes to see what is real, and what is artificial,'
about them ; so that, when that narrow door on La
Rue de Braque was seen hung with a white scarf,
the curious had much to say.

To do them justice, actors, if not always hanno-

THE SF.IXE.

g^.»dly do,non8tr,,te on all ,.ul,lie occasions-balls,
concerts, and funerals. '

Althon;,^, l.)ol,.l,elle',s nan.o had entirely disap-
peared fn,m the playbills, and was tboronlly .1
know, to the rising generation of tI,eatre-goo!.8 it
« M D?! rr'" ^V""^^ '" ^» obscn^» pa .erl

Fa,no«8 or not famous, unknown or celebrated
they were al there: those who had played wh
DolobeHe ,n t e provinces; those who W „,et hi „

the hundred others, to whom it would be difficult
to grve a name, but whom one recalls, because one

sceni "°"^ ^"^ ^' '"'' ""^ ^"^ ^ P"''*'°" °f 'he
the l,8t of those present at the funeral. They live

pub e, tha they grasp every opportunity of thrust-
ing themselves into notice.

The day arrived. All the windows in the ncid,

ered m the R„e de Braque, waiting for the cornin-.
of the funeral guests. Here they are, some on foot
o^^.ers m carriages, easily to be recognized by £

dTfferenT" ''"'' ■''"' '''^^'^''-^ gestures.' The

aitterent manner in v^hinh ^^ ^ , ^

— ; ^.i^^ ;,^cDu gouu people raani-

19a

SWONIE.

fested their emotion on this painful occasion was
very remarkable. Each entered the hall as if going
on the stage ; one dashed a tear from the corner of
his ejes with his gloved finger ; another stood still
for a moment, the left foot thrown slightly forward
and the hand pressed on his breast. "Be quiet,
heart ! " this one seemed to say. This was acting,'
and yet was sincere.

As soon as they were in the rooms, the actors
separated into two distinct classes ; those who were
of a certain celebrity gathered together and looked
with contempt at the unknown comedians, who in
their turn whispered quite audibly : " Do you see
how So-and-so has changed? How old he has
grown ! "

Dolobelle vibrated between these two groups ;
the poor fellow was half broken-hearted, but his
grief did not prevent him from carefully curling
his hair, or being anxious in regard to the fit of his
gloves. Had any one been able to look into his
very soul, it would have been impossible to say
where his real sorrow ended and where his pretense
began, so closely were they interwoven.

M. Chebe darted about, more important than
ever, while his wife remained above with the poor
mother.

Sidonie did not appear, but her husband was
there— the good friend who had defrayed all the ex-
penses of this last ceremony, and who seemed as
overwhelmed by grief as the father himself. The
carriages were superb, and the hearse was a bank

TlIE SEINE.

193

started !r r f ?°'''" ^''^ ^""^-1 P-'-'^^'^ion
eobs thiMlcng more of his own sorrows, of the f^
thor bur,,ng his only child, than of the' child her-
self. J ar be bw his sincere grief lay his intolerable
personal van.ty, as at the bottom k a river lies a
huge rock, motionless in spite of stonns and waves!
The pomp of the ceremony, the long procession, the

aid ov -^d >•"' '"' ^^""^''^ ^''"^^' ''" ^''"ered

thTw-as for hen '""' " ^'°°' ^"'^ ^« ^^^'^ =-^"
Happily, above, at the window of the old work-
room, stood Madame Dolobelle, who c„ .id not be
prevented from watching the procession depart.
Behmd the closed blinds she waved her thin hand
Well," mur^nred the mother, almost to her-
self-" farewell, my darling!" and, softly as the
words were spoken, D&ir,«e heard them.

{rj

BOOK IV.

CHAPTER I.

PERPLEXITIES.

One night, toward the end of the following
January, Sigismond Planus sat in his little home at
Montrouge. ^' It is of no use," he said to himself,
" for me to go to bed, for I cannot sleep." And in
truth the old cashier had an excellent reason for
anxiety—two large payments to be made, and no
funds on hand. What was to be done ? Sigismond
had tried several times to speak of the mltter to
young Fromont ; but George avoided all responsi-
bility, and only appeared in his office at intervals,
and then was always in a hurry. To the anxious
questions of the cashier, he would only answer, pull-
ing his mustache, " Don't trouble yourself. Planus,
It will be right "—and had the air at the same time
of^ not knowing what he saM, of thinking of some-
thmg else. The report gained ground in the factory
that Sidonie was as faithless to him as she had been
to her husband, and that this made him very un-
happy. In fact, he was more occnnift.^ h^T s;^,

t.\s.\jij.s.\j a

. PERPLEXITIES.

follies than bj his busines, , fealties. a7^
ler, he was rarely seen ; he passed his life watcl St
the manufacture of his new rnaelunes. T ^ „
SSrr ^';f^" '"^ "''^'^°- interests I .
cle Ivs tool, their ease, came late in the moniin,. and
le t early, paying little attention to the bell. Much

hrlTonrrf 'V"""^'^'' '' " *'•-' beeausr'
aftfr i LT^ f *'*, "'" SO alone for some time

lottenness under the apparent prosperity !

do f'^^T""^ '^'"'^ "" *^'^- I'"' ^-''at could he

collect all ontstandmg debts-humiliating as it
would be to do so, and dangerous in one^wa; as
such a step would show that their house stlod' L

to have their notes protested.

1: /^^''''*^ PO"-- "»" tosses and turns on his
deepless couch, we will take a look at an attic in the
Boulevard Beanmarcliais, where for some little time
the Dolobelles have been living.

Alas ! D&lr.5e had not bten mistaken in her

predictions. Her mother had not been able to co"

tmue her employment. Her eyes were weakened

by tears and her birds all had a doleful air, as 'f

hey had been rained on. She gave them u^,, Ld

muslins. But her earnings erew smalle. .„a
smaller, and DolobeUe finally got into'7"habit' o7

'IJ

i^^

» ,^i

196

SIDONIE.

'I'i

running up little bills. He owed his tailor, too, and
ins bootmaker; but he was more anxior.s in regard
to his still unpaid account at the restaurant, which
he had assured his creditor should be paid on the 1st
of February. If he did not keep his word, every-
thing would be seized and sold.
^ The furniture was poor enough, to be sure, but
It had been theirs ever since their marriage. For
twenty years he had eaten his supper on the end of
that long table; and to see Zizi's arm-chair carried
off would break his ^.ife's heart-that chair, about
which seemed to linger still something of their child
and at which neither father nor mother could look
without tears. The poor actor did not know where
to turn for aid ; and before his eyes he saw D^siree's
face of tender entreaty. She had never told him
what it was that she wished him to renounce, but
he had guessed all the same, and the thought that
he had not fulfilled his daughter's dying wishes did
not lighten his heart.

George Fromont this same night sat in his cheer-
ful library, but he was far from cheerful himself
His head was buried in his arms, and he thought
of Sidonie, who was at that moment sleeping quiet-
ly on the floor above. For a long time he had im-
plored her not to receive the tenor, Casaboni ; but
Sidonie would not yield, and that very day had told
him that she should certainly invite the man tt ^ ball
that she was about to give.

^;is he your admirer?" cried George, looking
ner in the eyes. °

PERPLEXITIES

19T

She did not deny it, nor did she sav yes ; she did
not even turn away. Slie merely, in her cool, pas-
sionless tone, informed him that no human boino-
had the right to control or inlliience her acts; tha^
she was free ; that she meant to remain so, and
would submit to no interference from either Risler
or himself. They had spent an hour in this way.

And It was for this woman that he had sacrificed
everythmg; it was for her that he had thrown aside
the love of his wife ! He was tilled with shame and
luimdiation. He rose from his chair and walked
restlessly about the room. His eyes happened to fall
on an almanac, and he saw the day of the month
Good Heavens ! Was there not a large sum of
money to be paid in a few days, and he had allowed
all recollections of business-matters to be swallowed
up m his own ignoble personal affairs ! But now he
saw all the impending disaster ; he had not a penny
For SIX months he had lost at cards regularly ; enor-
mous sums had gone in this way ; he literally had
nothmg left, except the factory ; and at this thou^>-ht
the unhappy man uttered a deep groan.

" George, I am here— what is the matter?" and
his wife stood before him. It had been her habit
for some time to wait for him to return from the
club, where she supposed his evenings were passed •
but this night she had gone to her child. She heard
her husband come in, and heard him walking to and
fro in the room, and his groan summoned her to
ue. ,T i^at luiuoiau Lore ms neart as he saw her

ilr

iifsf

ilil

198

SID mm

Hei I

III

felt her tender arms as she drew his head to her
breast ! I ortunately, he could not speak, or lie would
have told her all.

" You have been playing cards, have you not ?
and you have had lieavy losses ? "

He made a sign in the affirmative, and, when he
had regamed his self-control, told her that he had
a largo sum of money to pay in a few days, and did
not know where to procure tlie first penny

She uttered not one word of reproach. She was
one of those few women who can face a misfortune
without a word of recrimination. Possibly, at the
bottom of ]jer heart she was grateful for the disaster
that brought hira nearer to her. She reflected a
moment, then with a great effort she said : « Nothino.
IS yet lost; I will go to Savigny and ask my grand"-
fatherfor the requisite amount." He himself would
never have dared to make such a suggestion ; the
thought even would never have occurred to him
bhe was so proud, and her grandfather so hard t It
was an enormous sacrifice that she made, and a
strong proof of her love that she offer-^d. He felt
strengthened and encouraged by her words and by
her tenderness. •'

" Olairo ! " he cried, « how good you are ! "

CHAPTER II.

I 5 '

III

EEVELATIONS.

"Ah ! here is Sigismond. How do you do, and
how is business in these days ? "

The old cashier smiled, and shook hands with
the master of the shop, with his wife, and his
brother, and looked about with some curiosity. It
was a shop for the sale of wall-papers in the Fau-
bourg St.-Antoine. They were old customers of the
Fromont manufactory. They had begun in a small
way, and been accommodated with long credits by
the Fromonts, and were now indebted to them to a
very large amount; the Fromonts neglecting to
call in their money, as they knew it to be per-
fectly safe.

Sigismond looked about with" keen, inquisitive
eye. The increasing business and prosperity of the
establishment were plainly to be seen. At the cash-
ier's desk, behind the grating, sat the wife of one of
the sons, with an air of authority on her fair young
face. The old man ground his teeth with rage ag
he thought of the difference at the Maison Fromont ;

but the thiujcr fhut nT^novprl In'm fTio rp'^<2+ Tiron i-n

I I

II f .^l

200

SID NIK

What way he could ask for the debt they owed with-
out betraying the pressing needs of his masters.
With an air of indifFerence he began: "JJusiness
was good," he said, "but he liked to steal away
sometunes and see old friends." Then, catchincr a
glimpse of concealed aniusenient in the faces of "lis
hearers, he became confused, and took up his hat to
go away. On the threshold he stopped. " Since I
am here " he said, "you might as well settle our old
account." The two brothers and the woman at the
desk exchanged a look.

"What account ?" And they laughed at Sigis-
mond 3 joke, as they considered it. He laughed, too
—but what a langh was his !

Then they explained to him tha. young Fromont
had given them a receipt in full, and taken all the
money they owed the firm, six months before. Sio-is-
mond had hardly the strength to stammer: «To°be
siire-Ihad forgotten, good friends. Sigismoud
i-lanus IS certainly growing old." And with these
words the old man departed. The young people
looked at each other, and shook their' heads sadly,
for they understood the ailair perfectly.

Sigisraond walked down the street as if he were
moving in a dream. This, then, was the reason why
Oreorge never came to him now for money! Evi-
dentb^, wherever he might go now, he would find
that George had preceded him. He would try, how-
ever. He went to another of their customers ; he
half opened the door. "A thousand pardons," he
cned, but will you obhge me with the date of your

tlEVELATIOm.

801

last payment to our house 2 Tforgot to inseribTu
on my books."

They told him that, five months previous, they
had paid everytlung. He closed the door, and pm.
sued Ins weary pilgrhnage. At tliat moment, Ma-
dame Fremont's carriage swiftly passed him; hut
tlan-e, busy with her own miserable thoughts, had
no eyes for him. ° '

The task she had taken on herself was by no
means an easy one-to ask for a large sum of money
f..>m a man who boasted loudly that never in his
life had he either borrowed or lent a single penny
and who declared that while he lived no me,nber of
his famdy should receive anything from him! True
to h,s nature, he had given his daughter no dowry
on her marnage, and had always been more or less
annoyed that her husband had succeeded in acquir-
nig wealth without once coming to him for assist-
ance.

When his son-inJaw entered his presence, happy
and successful, the old man would say, with a ma-
hcous smde, « Wait awhile, the end is not yet > "
and sometimes, at Savigny, would look at the house,
the stables, and conservatories, and say, "I am con-
soled, when I th nk of dying, by the remembrance
tha no member of my family is rich enough to keep
up this establishment when I am gone ' "

Nevertheless, with a certain tenderness that is
not uncommon in a grandfather who is hard to every
one else, old Gardinois wonld have petted Claire •

DUE SJlfi- fivp-n •orKii-.Ti i:«.*.i_ c . , - . .

--, Tr^v,ii iiiLiu, was airaia ot iiiin.

His

202

'^TDO.VIB.

roughness repulsed and his selfisliness disgusted her
60 that, on lier marriage, the old man said to Ma'
dame Fromont :

" If your daughter wishes, she may have from
me a princely gift, but she must ask me for "it."

But Claire received nothing, for she never would
ask for anything from him. Therefore, the morti-
fication she endured, three years later, when she
tound herself on her way to implore a favor from
hnn, is more easily imagined than described. Poor
Uaire I her grandfather would certainly try her
temper and her patience by attacks on her husband •
reproaches and sneers would be lavished upon him'
This thought, however, and the one that quickly
followed, that she could at least defend the beinff
she loved best in the world, gave her a certain
amount of courage.

It was noon when the train reached Savigny •
and, as she had sent no notice of her comino- the
carriage was not waiting at the station. She was
therefore obliged to walk to the house.

The cold was excessive— the ground frozen and
uneven. The chill north wind blew sharply from
the river, through the bare and leafless woods ; the
lake was black, reflecting the leaden skies above ;
while the house seemed to frown her away; and, in
the rough creaking of the weathercock on the sta-
bles, she fancied she detected the inhospitable re-
frain—" Don't come here ! don't come here ! ''

^ Had poor Claire but listened to this advice, she
might have preserved her peace of mind ; but she

REVELA TIONS. jQg

did not and was shown into tl.o presence of hor
grandfather who «^3 in a small room that he called
h 8 ofhee. Seem^- ,is granddaughter pale and shiv-
Cing, m spxto of all her velvets and fur., the old
inan at once understood that some matter of ..rave
importance required his attention. " What is the
matter ? » he said, pleasantly enon.d,

Claire went toward the fire, and, seating herself
^ithout even lifting her veil, proceeded a^once to
lay beforeher grandfather the occasion of her unex-
pected v.s.t. She dared not even attempt the ordi-
nary exchange of courtesies, lest she should lose all
courage.

He did not intem.pt her while she spoke, in a
calm, eold voice; hut in his eyes could have been
read by an acute observer, a gleam of malicious joy.
lie bought to Inmself, " So, these proud Fromonfs
are humbled at last, and have felt the need of old
Gardmois ! " When she had finished, he be^^n of
course, with the words, " I told you so ! ! k^ew
things must come to this termination ; " and then
in a hard, severe tone, continued to express his sur-
prise that, when his sentiments were so well known
m his famdy, she should have ventured to appiv to
him ; and finished by flatly refusing to lend hir one

* J'"'!u*^'!!? 'P*^ "^ ^"''' '■'"W- ^''° ^onld have
to bear the dishonor of her father's failure ; but the

old man remained unmoved, and oven sought to

humiliate her still further, for his was that hard.

peasant nature that likes to le»vp tl,e mar'- -'• "-

» •.*'

204

8ID0XIE.

nails in his wooden si .08 on tlie face of liis fallen
enemy.

" All I can H/i \11^ Jear is, that yon can have a
hOM.e at Savinrny. \,,,,r husband may come, ^oo
for I need a sec-rotary, and will pay him a small
salary—tell hhij 80."

She rose in indJ-(.;if -on. She came as hit mnd-
child, and he received ht. as if she had been a beg-
gar. God be praised ! she had not reached that
pomt ! And Claire turned toward the door.

" Take care ! " said the old man ; " it i. for
your sake that I have ofl'ered to receive your hus-
band here. You have no idea of the life he leads
in 1 aris or you certainly would not ask me to assist
Jinn with my money. Bui I am pretty well ac-
quamted with the doings of that scamp your hus-
band I know where he passes his nights and his

Claire's yes grew larger with terror, for her
heart told her that she was about to hear some ter-
nlile iiitelJigence.

Tlie old man continued: "Sidonio has aood
sti'onjif teeth ! " " '

" Sidonio ? " cried Claire.

" Precisely : and Sklonie has cmnched „p every
h.t of jour husband's property, with the full con-
sent ot her own good-man, be it understood I »

And coldb' and witlwut remorse her grandfather
related to Claire whence came the money for the
purchase of the country-house at Asnidres, for the
horses and carriages, ano for the jewels worn hj

DITELATIOXS.

Sid

SOS

onic— not a detail did lie soften- nd it

traordinaij how ho ooii'd Iiavo learned

was et-

80 Jllluh.

Claire listened with a smile of iiurednlitv/and

this smile exasperated the old

not believe nie

man. " Ah I you do

you want i)roofs! Very will tl

go to Darche's, the jeweler in La Rue'de la l>aiv'
A fortmght ago George bought there a necklace for
'^iijch he ,,aid live thousand <IoIlars-fiye thousand
dollars on the eve of failure! "

Ho mi/;l>t have gone on talking for the whole
day wiMiout any interruption from Claire. She
dared not speak, lest her trembling voice should be-
tray her emotion, and the brave woman wished to
snnlo on to the end. At last he stopped. She bowed
and turned to the door acain.

" ^™ -7" Soi..g ? Why are yon in such a bur-
ry ? asked lier grandfather, following her out.
Wait for the carriage to take you to the station."
Uaire shook her head and walked on, with her
grandfather following her.

Erect, and apparently composed, she eropsed the
lawn so yyell knoyvn to her from her childhood.
Her favorite seat under the tree still stood there
l^ut she had not a thought nor a look for them, nor
even for the old dog yvho ran to greet her. She had
entered the ho:,3e as if she had some claim to kind-
ness aud protection. She left it like a stran-^er
wrapped in her own cares and sorrows. °

" Good-by, grandfather."
J' Good-by!" and the gate «-as closed violently
L-i-iuu i.vx. ^uc atuuu iui- a moiaent and turntd to

206

SID ON J E.

M I

look back at a spot once so dear to her ; as she did
60 she caught sight of the little post-box on the
wa ,and was instantly overwhelmed by one of those
sudden g earns of memory which sometimes brin..
o ns each act of our lives bearing on our present
joys and sorrows. It was here, three short yc..rs be-
fore, that she had placed in that box the fatal letter
summonmg Sidonie to visit her for a month. Why
Had not something warned her? "Had I but
known " she said-" had I but known ! » And slie
seemed still to hold in her hand that satin envelope
Ihen, as she thonght of her child, she felt a mo-
mentary mdignation against the injustice of life
But suddenly she said, "No, it is not true!" and
as she hurned toward the station the unhappy wom-

fe° r" Z ,n 1° ""T "'*'' ''"'- °"" <*° '^ts and

of her husband, his preoccupied air and evident

she twr . ^\ ""'T "'''''"' "'« d--'«d station
she tel a touch on her hand ; it was the old do^ who

friend aTl/',^ 7"^* °' *'« <>- ^^
inend-at his humble and loving caresses, her tears

oroke their boundaries ; she knelt down on the frl!

zen ground, and, kying her head on his rough coat

wept convulsively. Suddenly ashamed of herseS'

she rose and sent him home again, with an a' o

amperativa that the poor creature ;bcyed ItZut

ParS't''' f ■■" *''°""'''' ""^ '^""'°? *« train in
Pans, was to go to the jeweler's who her grand-
father said had sold George the neekl..« t? !, „.

REVELATIONS.

207

Story were true, the others would be also. But her
fear lest these details should be confirmed was so
great, that she hardly dared enter the establish-
ment At first she looked at some jewels in their
velvet cases, and one would have supposed her in
her elegant dress, as she bent over the ornaments, a
happy woman, whose only anxiety was to make a
becoming selection, instead of a miserable wife
about to learn a truth that would darken aU her
future life. For five minutes she suflered pan-^s
worse than the agonies of death. °

At last she spoke.

"Ah! yes, madame-perfectly-M. Fremont,
vve can make you one precisely similar for five
thousand dollars."

" Thanks," said Claire ; " I will think about it."
A mirror opposite reflected the frightful pallor

of her face, and she hurried away, lest she should

lamt.

_ She had but one idea-to be alone. Suddenly
without knowing how she had reached it, she beheld
the dark walls of the factory before her. By what
road had she come? had she walked 2 She never
knew. But the stern reality of her life and her
sorrows returned to her as she ascended the broad
stone steps of her home. Kisler himself was there,
superintending the arrangement of the ornamental
plants in the hall. It was the night of Sidonie's

This atmosphere of luxury and/^fe, pursued her,
then, to iier own home; it was too much, and sho

1 «

- ■ tei

208

SID OKIE.

: ' !

I I

k t her temper; and, when Risler bowed to her
with Ins usual deference, she looked him full in the
eyes, and, with an expression of utter contempt
swept past without one word. ^ '

From that moment the course she would take
appeared plainly before her.

She hastily kissed her child, and then ran to her
mother's room.

« Hurry, mamma ! » she cried-" hurry, for we
are going away." •"

The old lady rose slowly from her arm-chair

where she had been rubbing her watch-chaTn w' h

nhn.te care; her daughter restrained her il^

tience and looked about the apartment, and aU at

Her mother s mmd was nearly gone, her husband
fa^less,^and her child too young t'o sympathise

In a moment the whole household was busv in
preparafons for this abrupt departure. Claire per"
feetly self-possessed, directed Tu their movemen
She determmed to depart before George's return
so that when he came he should be greefed by a va!

It £» M ""' ''^^■Wed-perhaps to an aunt

trirT~^'''''^\ *° ^'^'■«"-''- I' '"""-red little ;
her firs cai-e must be simply to leave this atmosphere
of falsehood and treachery.

As she bent over a trunk, each article that she
placed m ,t seemed to be full of memories-there
IS so much of ourselves in all the ti-!fl»= -'■-•-'- —

■i7S-»Si».'afe«(i««-"

liEVELATlOXS.

209

Bee constamly. Sometimes, the perfume of a m^,
or the design on a bit of lace, brings the tears to
our eyes. Suddenly, a heavy step was heard in the
ealon the door of whic-h was open-then a slight
cough. Slie supposed it was Risler, for he alone
had the right to enter thus familiarly. The idea of
seemg that hypocritical smile, that lying face, dis-
turbed her hardly-won equanimity, and sI,o sprang

"V ? I u° '''°'' ''• -^"^ Sigismond appeared!
ILvdame," he said, mysteriously, "I have come
lor the monej. '

"What money?" asked Claire, who had utterly
forgotten why she had gone to Savigny.

" V/hy the money for to-morrow's payments-M.
O-eorgo told me that you would hand it over to me "

' Jf ''^' ^^""^ ^"""^ ' ^"^ I i^ave not got it." * *
Then," said the cashier, in a low voice, as if
speaking to himself, "there is nothing forus but
absolute bankruptcy ! "

Claire started at this fatal word, and staggered,
half famtmg, to a chair. '

For the last few hours her mind had been so ab-
sorbed ,n the ruin of happiness and hopes that she
had paid little heed to the ruin of the firm

But this bitter recollection overwhelmed her
now; George would return to find his home de-
serted his wife and child gone ! And then Claire
asked herself what would become of that weak and
erring nature, left to face the storm alone I

Her

or\m

eyes

filled with tears, and her heart with
tastanding the wrono-s s

to;.

had

re-

210

BTDONIE.

ceived at his hands. «He will have the right to
say," she thought,-" that his wife deserted him when
poverty and misfortunes were crowding upon him ' "
He might say, " Were I still rich, she would
have forgiven me." A few minutes' quiet reflection
showed Claire the path of duty clear before her ;
and, when her servants came for further instruction,'
the sad wife answered gently that she had changed
her mtentions, and was not then going away.

CHAPTER HI.

NOTE TO MEET.

It was midnight. A fine snow was falling fast,
and Kisler, wrai)ped in liis cloak, was on Lis way
home from the brewery, where he had supped, for
the first time for weeks. His invention had been
pronounced, that very day, a great success, and the
good man was overjoyed that, with its aid, he could
hope to return to the firm some portion of the obli-
gations that his old master, the uncle of Georce
l^romont, had placed him under. His thou^rts
were happy thoughts, and his step was light. He
should exchange Asni^res for a larger place farther
away from Paris, for Sidonie was growing tired of
the toy. Then, Frantz must come home ; this won-
derful invention of his would quadruple the profits
of the house, while diminishing the labors of the
operatives ; and should Frantz remain in that un-
healthy country when his brother was living in
luxury at home— remain, too, in the power of ty-
rannical masters, who gave their employes a leave
of absence only to cut it short when they pleased,
without affording any explanation of their conduct?
x_- _....^, ^^.^ a.waja iuiL very sore over tlie sudden

f^f

W 'l

ir. Bi

212

SID OKIE,

departure of Frantz, wiio bj his brief visit had
revived all the affection of his older brother. Yes,
his invention once in thorough running order, and
it would not be difficult to find some nominal em-
ployment for Frantz in the establishment. As of
yore, Kisler thought only of the happiness of those
about him. Thus thinking, he reached the corner
of his own street. A long line of carriages before
the house, the trroup of coachmen sheltering them-
selves in the n- "^hboring porches tiom the fast-fall-
ing snow, brought to the memory of the good man
the fact that Sidonie gave a large ball that night,
from which she had graciously pennitted her hus-
band to absent himself, on account of " that incessant
business." In the midst of all his generous plans
for her happiness, the music of thhfete pleased him,
and he had an emotion of gratified vanity, as he saw
the second story of the house blazing with lights.
Shadows passed and repassed— they were dancing.'
For one moment Eisler watched the crowd through
the lace curtains that but half shaded the windows,
and then, turning away, caught sight of Sidonie's
shadow in a small room off the salon. She was
standing, as if in front of a mirror. Behind her
was a smaller figure, evidently Madame Dobson,
who was apparently busy in repairing some disorder
of her dress. All this was vague, but Eisler recoo--
nized the graceful outlines of his wife's figure. "^
Or the lower floor all was dark, with the exception
of the glimmer of a night-taper in the sleeping-room.
As the baby had not been very well, Eisler was

NOTE TO MEET.

213

Startled, and immediatel^ thought of the singul^
ag. at,on ehown by Madame George, and turned
back at once to find AchiUe, and discover from hi,a
II anything was wrong.

The gardener's lodge was full, for the coachmen
had crowded around Aehille's stove to smoke and
warm themselves.

" Is the little girl ill ? » asked Risler
" No sir, it is not the child ; it is M. George.
He was taken when he came home this eveninff T
went for a doctor, who came, but said there was
nothmg to be done, and nothing needed, except rest
and qmet." And, as Eisler went out and closed the
door behmd hnn, AchiUe added with a half sneer-

Ihey are not quite so merry on the first floor
as on the second ! "

When young Fremont, on returning homo that
evenmg, saw h,s wife, he knew at once by her face
that sometlnng had happened. He had been so ac-
custo.ned for two years to seeing his treachery go
unpunished that at first the idea that Claire had
discovered his conduct did not occur to him Claire
spoke only of Savigny. " I could do nothing with
Vij grandfather," she said, sadly.

George grew frightfully pale. " I am rnined-
I am rmned !" he said over and over again. His
sleepless nights, his anxiety of mind, and a terrible
scene that he had had with Sidonie, who persisted
an giving this ball at this time-this unexpected re-
fusal on the part of M. Gardinois-all comhin„H t.
prostrate the poor fellow. ]

had a frightful

ner-

214

8W0NIE.

vous attack, and Claire gently and compassionately
persuaded him to go to bed, and installed herself at
his side. She tried to speak to him as usual, but
lier voice lacked its wonted tenderness. In the very
air with which she arranged his pillows and dropped
his medicines there was an indefinable change — an
indifferent coldness— that her husband felt.

"I have ruined you," said George more than
once, as if to disturb this coldness that he felt so
keenly. She with a disdainful gesture seemed to
say, " That is a trifle."

At last he fell asleep, and she sat near, watching
him. " It is my duty," she said. Her duty ! There
she sat, hour after hour, by the side of the being
whom she h id so blindly worshiped.

The ball above had begun, and the ceiling was
jarred by the rapid steps of the dancers, and the
half-sad, half-merry strains of the German dance-
music came to the sad wife.

Claire was buried in thought. She knew that
the melancholy logic of life was immutable. She
did not ask herself why this man had so deceived
her, nor yet why for a mere caprice he had thrown
away happiness and honor. Sufficient for her was
the fact that he had done so. It was not the past
that occupied all her thoughts— it was the future.

A new life slowly unrolled itself before her
weary eyes— dark and severe, full of privation and
of toil— and, singularly enough, this future did not
terrify her. What a task would be hers— the care
V* tiiiv^^ viiii^j_n,ii — ^juLOi muciiui, iiur ciiiiUj and iier

NOTE TO MEET.

215

husband— for both motlier and husband were chil-
dren I And the longer she dwelt on the responsibil-
ities that would be liers in the future the less she
thought of her own sorrows, and the better she un-
derstood the full meaning of the word sacrifice-a
word so vague from indifferent lips, so full of so-
lemnity when it becomes the rule of one's life

These were the reflections of poor Claire in that
dimly-hghted room, whose one single taper, like a
spark fallen from the brilliant chandelier in the
ballroom above, had attracted Kisler's attention.
Eeassured by Acliille's words, the good man deter-
mmed to steal quietly into the house, and, avoiding
his guests, go to bed and to sleep, if possible. To
do this, he was obliged to return to his office to make
use of a private staircase. lie passed through two
or three of the large rooms. The pale moon, now
occasionally emerging from the clouds, shone fitfully
through the unshaded windows. A strong smell of
oil and varnish still lingered there, and the huo-e
rolls of paper gleamed white like shrouded ghost's
Suddenly he caught sight of a ray of light from
under the door of the cashier's office. Could old
Planus be still at work at one o'clock in the morn-
ing ? It was very extraordinary ! Could a burglar
have effected an entrance ? At this last idea Risler
moving with great caution, softly opened the door'
and was inclined to retreat as softly '

Since Eisler's inexplicable break with Sigismond
he had carefully avoided being alone with him. His
w„u,.„va ^wvic pruvumeu mm from asking an ex-

216

SID ONI E.

planation of the singular coldness that had so liurt
iiin But this evening Kisler was .o liappy and so
hopeful tlmt he felt disposed to make some advances
to Ins old friend.

The cashier was seated at his desk, a pile of
books m front of him, and more on the tloor at h^s
8ide. Eislcr went to the grating. " Sigismond,"
h<5 said, in a gentle tone.

The old man looked up, and tears-the first he
had shed since he was a boy-stood in his eyes,
lou are in trouble, my friend. What is the
matter ? " and Risler held out his hand, hut Sims-
mond drew back hastily. This movement was so
sudden, and evidently so instinctive, that all Risler's
sympathy changed to indignation.

lie straightened himself up. " I offered you
my hand, Sigismond Planus."

" And 1 refused to give you mine," answered
I lanus, rising.

A long silence ensued ; neither of the two men
spoke ; the distant music of the ballroom came iu
gusts, as it were, of melody.

" Why do you reject my hand ? " at last asked
Eisler, slowly and stei-nly ; the iron grating, against
which he leaned, shaking with the violence of the
man s repressed emotion.

^* Why ? Because you have ruined this honor-
able house ; because in a few hours a messenger will
come from the bank, and, standing just where you
stand will present to me notes which, thanks to
you, I cannot pay I "

NOTE TO MEET.

217

Kisler stood utterly confounded,
i ruined the liouse ? I ? "

. "Yes, you, sir I and worse tlian tliat, von liiv«

nnned rt throu^li vour wifo nr.i i ^ ®

I X ^'^to'i^vuui wire, and you liavearrino-n/i

between you two to iirr.fif ]>l v ''^i^i'angccl

juM luo 10 profit by ourdis/jri-aee. T unrlpr
Btand j-our ^ame. Tl,e money out of «^,i 1. "ouJ
^M haB cajoled George YroLnt, her L'nd"

leach of all danger-and you will in some wav
manage to evade all liabilities." ''^

Eisler'B lips parted, as if to speak ; all his feat
ures eontraeted with an expression of 'anguish he"
swayed heavily forward, draggin c with l2 fl •
.rating, and fell on the'tloof "fie dtlttut:;^;'
lose oonscousness ; probably the blood that treamed
from a wound on his head relieved the Zll
hia hi-;., c- • , , 7 'LiiLvea tue pressure on

wherlf?' ^^,"""'"*" ''^'l^'"^ ^"■'" f° «'« low bench

era a an'dTt^'T, "* °" I"'^-^''^' '— ^ l^is
cravat, and bathed h,s temples. When Eisler ^t

a.t, opened his eyes, he saw M.adame Geo^ ^^ho

had been summoned by Sigismond, leaninVover

lam Is u true, madame, is it true?" said the

poor fellow, as soon as he could speak. Claire colld

not a swer^ and tun.ed away sadly. "So," he eo '

I No, my dear old friend, not through you ! "
. ,^.^';';"*'"'"»g''mywife? Ah! this is terrible
and that >s the way I have paid my debt of gratitude I
But you, Madame George, you have not real! v be-
iievea me an appnmr.liV.o ;« c.„.>t, —mi.' n«

lieved me an aonomr.lir'P in
10

en /■»)->

viiiauiy '

* !

iii

218

SIDONIE.

" No, my friend, be calm— I know you to be the
most honest man in the world I "

He looked at her for a moment, his lips trem-
bling, and his clasped hands extended imploringly ;
for all his ways and expressions were singularly sim-
ple and childlike. " To think," he murmured, " that
I have brought these misfortunes upon you I " Sud-
denly he rose. <'We must not waste our time in
this way," ho cried ; " J must settle my accounts I "
Madame Fromont wms terrified, for she thought he
meant that he must see George, and cried in an
agonized tone, " Risler ! "

He turned ; looking at her, he understood her
fears. " Be at ease, madame ; your husband may sleep
tranquilly ; I have something to attend to first, of
more importance than my impaired honor. Wait for
me — I will return shortly."

He hurried up the narrow staircase, and Claire
sat opposite Planus in silence. Some twenty minutes
elapsed, when a noise of hurried footsteps was
heard, and the rustling of silks.

Sidonie came first, in ball-dress, but so deadly
pale that the jewels that sparkled on neck and arms
seemed more alive than herself. She was trembling
with emotion of some kind ; whether this emotion
was fear or anger, remained to be seen. Risler was
behind her, laden with papers, jewel-cases, and a
writing-desk. When he entered" his wife's room,
he went at once to her escritoire, and emptied it of
its contents. He found jewels, the deed of the house
at Asnieres, and some certificates of stocks; then,

NOTE TO MEET.

219

on the tlireshokl of the ballroom, he called his wifo
loudly —

** Madame Eislerl"

She ran quickly to him— so quickly that no one
perceive*, the tragic m. aning of the summons—and
entered her boudoir filter him. When she saw her
escritoire open, the drawers on the floor, their con-
tents scattered here and there, she stood aghast.

"I know all ! " said her husband.

She attempted a look of disdain, but Kisler
grasped her arm with such violence that the words
of his brother came back to her at mce: '^It will
kill him, perhaps, but he will kill you first ! " She
had more than an ordinary woman's fear of death
and made no resistance.

" Where are we going ? " she asked.

Risler did not answer. She had only time to
throw over her uncovered neck a scarf of light tulle
which she caught from a table as she passed. Her
husband thus dragged or rather pushed her down
the narrow staircase.

" We are here," he said, as they entered the office.
"Having stolen, we have now come to restore our
booty.— Here, Planus, you can raiee the necessary
sum with this trash." And with a movement of con-
tempt and loathing he tossed on the cashier's desk
the mass of feminine spoils with which he was
loaded.

Then, turning to his wife, he said sternly, " Those
jewels, madame, and hurry, if you please ! "

She, with the utmost calmness, and with a linger-

I-

I
»»

220

SID ONI E.

jng, caressing touch, loosened the clasps of Ler neck-
lace and bracelets, where the initial of her n^t
of air^ilt , f ^'"™^^""g serpent. Eider, out

tell I . a gh tenng heap. "I n,„st do ,ny part "
cnedheru,sband,feverishly. "Where is n.;pcTe;.
chain !-Now, Sigismond, we have niuch to do : as

of m time to meet our payments. I know a man
who^ wants to buy the house, so that is ,uicki;

He spoke and moved as if insane. Sigismond
«Bd Madame George looked at him in silenfe Is
to b,don.e, she seemed turned to marble; o e only
did she move, and then in an unconscious way, only
o draw more closely around her shoulders the tulle
searf-the a,r from the door, open into the garden
made her shiver. Did she hear the music f rfm the
b^ room Was she thinking of the strange eSn!
trast of the two apartments ? A heavy hand on her

hrr^fr^!'" ''■°" ^^'- '^-""•"•' «"<! EiBler drew
her toward Claire.

" On your knees ! "

Madame Fremont drew back. « No, no Eisler
»ot that ! " she said, in dismayed entreaty ' '

it must be!" answered Eisler, sternly "shn
shall implore your forgiveness.-6n your 'knees
n>adamel» and he compelled Sidonie to' fall on he
gmmd at Claire's feet. « You will repeat after me
word for word, just what I say: 'Madame-'" '

NOTE TO MEET.

221

'"If a life of humility, of submission—"'
'If a life of humil-' No, I will not! "she
cned; and, bounding to her feet like a wild creature,
and shaking off Risler's grasp, she rushed through
the open door into the silence and darkness of 4
night through the wind, and the fast-falling snow

Stop her!'; cried Claire, in an agony. "Ri;.

er-Planus-I implore you ! Do not let lier go in

that way ! " 6 "

Planus rnoved to obey her, but Risler caught
hnn let her go," he said, sternly ; " I forbid you
to follow her!_I beg your pardon, madame, but we
have more important matters than that on hand —
lo your books, Planus ; we have much to do."
Sigismond extended his hand.
"You are an honest man, Risler; forgive my
suspicions." Risler did Hot look as if he heard
these words, but turned at once to the books to make
a memorandum of tlie certificates of stock, and an
estimate of the value of th- jewels, guided by Pla-
nus, whose father had been a lapidary.

_ All this time Claire had been standing at the
window, watching the garden-walks, where Sidonie's
footpnnts were already nearly efftioed ; and the
danemg still continued. Who of the guests imag-
ined that the mistress of the house, with rage and
despair at her heart, was flying through the streets
ot i'ans, homeless and forsaken ?

Where was she going? Her first idea was to

222

SID OKIE.

find CasaI)oni, whom, after all, she had not dared to
ask to her ball ; but he lived at Montmartre, and
It was too far for her to go there in the dress she
wore. Where should she go ? Her parents would
receive her, without doubt ; but she was in no mood
to listen to the sobs and lamentations of M^^dame
Chebe. Then she remembered Dolobelle. In this
utter downfall of all her splendors, she thought of
the old actor who had first taught her to dance, to
move, to hold her fan, and who had been the first
to encourage her vanitj by his openlj-expressed ad-
miration. Something told her that with him she
should obtain sympathy. She took one of the car-
riages that stood by the garden-gate, and ordered
the coachman to drive to La Rue Beaumarchais.

For some time Madame Dolobelle had earned a
scanty pittance by braiding straw ; but Dolobelle
continued to grow stout, while his wife, day by day,
faded away to a mere shadow. He had just taken
the cover off of a bowl of soup, when a knock was
heard at the door. The actor, who had returned
from the representation of some bloody drama,
started as he heard these summons in the middle
of the night.

"Who is there?" he asked, in a startled tone.
" It is I— Sidonie I Open quick I "
She entered with a shiver, took a seat in front
of the stove, and poured out her rage and indigna-
tion in a torrent of words, a;id in a voice that was
subdued only on account of Madame Dolobelle, who
was asleep in the next room. Thp ^n^^,v,r r.f ],p^

NOTE TO MEET.

223

tmlet the shimmering silks and frosty laces, all
offered a strange contrast to this dingy room, these
piles of straw, and gave the impression of one of
those terrible dramas in real life where all ranks
and stations are confounded.

husband?"'' '"''' '^'^ '^^^"^^^' >^^^ '^ y^^
*' It is Frantz ; I am sure of it. He would have
believed no one else. Besides, a letter came last
night from Egypt. The idea of his compelling
me to kneel to that woman! But I will revenge
myself I- And a faint smile cm-vcd her pale

^ The old actor listened with vivid interest. Kot-
withstanding his compassion for " that poor devil '
Eisler and for Sidonie herself, whom he called in
theatrical parlance " the guilty beauty," he could not
prevent himself from looking at the whole affair from
an a. .istic point of view, and suddenly cried out,

What a situation for a fifth act ! "
She did not hear him ; absorbed in thoughts of
revenge, she had drawn closer to the fire, and me-
chanically took off her satin shoes to empty the
8now with w^hich they were filled.

"And now what are you going to do?" asked
Dolobelle.

I* Eemain here until morning, and then we shall

see.

"I have no OQQ to oiler you, my poor child."

234

SIDOmK

"Never mind, I can sleep in that arm-oliair-I
am not fastidious ! "

The actor sighed.

"Ah! yes, tlxat arm-chair-it wag pocr Zizi's-
many a time she has sat in it all night, vhen work
pressed. Well, well ! those who are taken away are
better oil than those who are left ! » Just then the
actor caught sight of his bowl of soup, and remem-
bered with grief that it must be stone-cold by that

Sidonie saw his tragic start. " But you were
about to sup ; don't lot me disturb you."

"It is a part of my regular life," continued the
actor; «a fixed hour for my meals is impossible in
my profession ; I must eat when I ean and as I can.
I know what I should do in your place. I would go
on the stage : you need the excitement of such a
career; besides," he resumed, as he took his first
mouthful of soup-" besides, a success on the boards
need ,n no way impede your success as a pretty
woman, nor vice versa. I will give you lessons in
deelamahon. With your voice, your intelligence,
your appearance, you will have a magnificent future "
And suddenly, as if to initiate her into the iovs
of the profession, he exclaimed : « But you have had
no supper, and emotion is exhausting; take this
plate-I am sure that you have not eaten a soup so
good as this for a long time."

She seated herself opposite her host ; a faint color
came to her cheeks, and her eyes glittered with tears
aud excitement.

NOTE TO MEET.

235

TLe sliallow-hearted creature I Her Hfo .,
name, her fortune, were a complete wrick Lr
tappiness, family, were all gone Sh-T'i 7?'
driven from her home- «!,. lE". f' ^""^ ''®^°

by every i-aginahrdiX ^7 W^
humiliation. But this d\c\ L7 ^ imaginable

country, the Bohemia, of which die had drpnm»^
aud where she really belonged ^

What had the future in store for her now th»f
she was cut loose from all old ties and assocMoi
Thus wondering, Sidonie made herself c m foS

conscience for several hours, awaking finallv wifT,
S '"'■ ^'^'^ "' ^^^^"^^ ^""^ arra.ig!dttch t

3<-

CHAPTEB ly.

THE NEW CLEEK OF THE HOUSE OF FEOMONT.

It was late in the morning when young Fromont
awoke. All night, through the drama that had
been enacted below him and the ball that haa been
going on above, he had slept one of those dream-
less slumbers, such as sometimes come to strengthen
the criminal on the eve of execution, or to soothe
the broken spirit of the mourner— such a slumber
as one might well pray never to be roused from.

^ The br'ight light that streamed into his windows,
brighter than usual on account of the white snow
on all the roofs and walls, brought George back to
the realities of life. For a moment he was bewil-
dered, and with difficulty recalled the impending
disaster of the day. He heard the ordinary noises
m the streets— the regular jar of the machinery in
the factory.

The bell rang. " What ! twelve o'clock ? How
I have slept I "

He felt a pang of self-reproach that he had not
been m the office to share the mortification of Risler
and Sigismond ; and he looked out in the garden,
where he heard voices, and saw his partner and the

NEW CLERK OF THE HOUSE OF FROMONT. 237

easier in earnest conversation. He dressed liur-
riedlj, and, as lie left liis room, met Claire on the
threshold.

" You must not go out," she said.

" And why not ? "

" I will explain—-"

" Has any one come from the bank ? "

" Yes ; and the notes are all paid "

" Paid I » ^ '

" ^es-Eisler got the money. It seems that his
wife had magnificent jewels. He sold them this
mormng, and also the house at Asni6res, with all
that It contained. But, as there was not time to
register the sale, Planu. and his sister advanced the
money " Claire did n .t look at her husband while
she spoke, and he, in his turn, did not lift his eyes.
Risler is an honest man," she continued, " and
when he knew from whom his wife had obtained-"
What!" said George, startled out of his self-
possession ; " he knows—? "

"Everything-and I too-I knew it all, before
Rislerdid." She drew nearer her husband. "I was
told It at Savigny, with so many cruel words that I
would gladly give ten years of my life to forget-"
• Uaire I " cried her husband, and took one step
toward his wife, but her face was so cold, her indif-
ference so great, her contempt so apparent, that he
dare 1 not say one word.

" Jo^ fiiid me calm," said the courageous worn-
an, for I shed all my tears yesterday. You may
iiiiHgine mat i wept over our ruin, but you are mis'.

fi l\

f\ r.

228

SIDONm

taken ; while one is young and strong, such tears
are cowardly. JS[o; I wept over our vanished love,
our buried happiness— over you—over your madness
that has cost you the loss of a faithful heart I "

She was beautiful as she stood before him — more
beautiful than Sidonie had ever been. If in other
and happier days her face lacked expression, or was
a trifle too severe in its classic beauty, the painful
vigils of the night had now softened and given it an
additional charm.

George implored her pardon, and would have
knelt at her feet.

Claire started back. " If you only knew," she
cried, "what you recall to me— whose false and
treacherous face I have seen at my feet this last ter-
rible night — "

" But mine is not false ! " answered George.

Some one knocked. " You see," she said, with
a bitter smile, " that the world claims us."

A servant appeared. " M. Risler would like to
see M. Fromont in the office."

" Very well," answered his mistress ; " say that
M. Fromont will be there as soon as possible."

George turned to obey the summons, but his wife
stopped him. " Let me go first."

George demurred. " Yery well," said Claire,
" do as you please, but if you knew the frightful
scene of last night— if you had seen his conduct to
his wife—" And here Claire, with feminine malice,
stopped, and with feminine curiosity examined her
husband's face.

2f^ CLERK OF THE HOUSE OF FROMONT. ggg

George was unmoved. " My life belongs to this
man."

*'It belongs to nit also, and I do not wish you
to meet him yet. There has been scardal enough
under my father's roof. Ilemember that all the
operatives thoroughly understand what has been
going on, and all the authority of the overseers was
required to-day to get them quietly at their work."
" But I shall look as if I were in hiding."
" And what of that ? How strange men are I
They do not shrink from deceiving a wife or a
friend ; but the thought that some one may call
them cowardly touches them to the quick. Listen I
Sidonie is gone, gone forever ; and, if you go out of
this house, I shall consider that you have gone to
join her."

" Very well," said George. " I will do as you
wish."

Claire went down to the office.

Seeing Kisler walking up and down the room,
his arms folded, and his face as quiet as ever, no one
would have imagined that he had had any part in
the occurrences of the previous night.
. When Madame Fromont entered, Risler shook
his head. " Ah ! " he said, wearily, " I expected you,
but it is not with you that I must talk. We have
weathered the gale ; but we have still many impor-
tant arrangements to make."

"Kisler, my friend, wait a little."

" Why, Madame George ? There is not a minute
to lose. Ah! I understand, you fear some mani-

w ■

230

SWONIE.

festatioiis of rage from me. Ko ; rememLer wliat I
fiaid— the honor of the firm must be vindicated before
my own."

"Your conduct has been admirable, my dear
Risler." ' ^

" Ah ! madarae, if you knew the whole ! He is a
hero," said poor Sigismond, wlio, though he dared
not speak again to his old friend, wished to show
him something of the regret and shame that filled
his own heart.

Claire continued : " Good as you are, you cannot
be certain of your powers of self-control. Perhaps,
in the presence of the man who has—"

Risler took her trembling hands. "Dear ma-
dame," he said, tenderly, " do not speak of the evil
that man has done to me. I hate him quite as much
for the misery he has inflicted on you. But, at pres-
ent, I think of him only as a partner in certain mer-
cantile transactions, whose opinion and authority I
must have before I take certain steps where haste is
imperatively required. Let him meet me here, then,
at once."

" I believe you," said Claire, and turned away to
seek her husband.

The first few moments of this interview were
terrible. George was pale and agitated. He would
rather have faced a volley of musketry than this
man. Risler did not look at him, but continued to
pace the room while he spoke.

" Our house has gone through a frightful crisis.
The catastrophe has been avoided for the time bein^

^EW CLERK OF THE HOUSE OF FROMONT. 231

I have been too much occupied with that invention ;
fortunately, all that is happily completed, and I am
free, and can devote myself to the supei-vision of
our interests. But you must do the same. The
workmen have followed their employer's example,
and this morning, for the first time for a year, they
have gone punctually to their duties. You must
rcigulate all this. Our patterns are old— I must
make new designs. I have great confidence in my
invention, and with its aid I hope to set things
straight. I should have told you of its complete
success, but I wished to surprise you. But nothing
can surprise either of us now. Am I not right,
George ? "

Claire trembled, for the satirical tone was so cut-
ting that she feared an explosion, but he continued
quietly :

^ " In six months I assure you that the invention
will yield magnificent results. But these six months
will require all our energy, all our watchfulness.
^ We must retrench at every turn, and shrink from
no economy. We have five designers: we must
dismiss three. I will take upon myself to do the
work of those three. In conclusion, I wish to say
that, after this month, I dissolve our partnership,
and will receive only my old salary."

Fromont wished to speak, but a look from his
wife restrained him.

" I am your partner no longer, George. You
must make no objection— that point is settled. I

shall rAanTYiA mv r^A -rwrvoJfi/^-r. ,-.-^4.:i c\^^ jx i_ j?

'■ a

232

BlDONm

from every embarrassment. What I shall do then
depends on circumstances. One word more, George
You must occupy yourself exclusively with your
business. The hand and the eye of the master must
be felt everywhere, and if you fulfill your duty I am
certain that one among our numerous misfortunes is
not irreparable."

During the silence that followed, a noise of
wheels was heard, and two huge wagons drew up in
Iront of the house.

" I must leave you for a moment," said Risler •

those are the wagons from the auction-room : they

liave come for my furniture." ^

"What I" cried Madame Fremont, "yon are
not going to sell this furniture, too?"

" Certainly, to the very last stick."

" But it is impossible," said George ; «I will not
permit it I " fo > ■»• wm not

Risler turned on him like lightning. « What
do you say— you will not permit it ? "

• ,^/\^^^f^^^ wealing gesture. '* You prom-
ised," she whispered. ^

" True-true I " he answered, and hurried away
his heart *'"'^*^*^^^ *^^* ^as swelling within

The second floor was deserted. The servants,
haying been paid and dismissed that morning, had
left the rooms in all the disorder that follows after
^fete, and over all lingered a certain air of expect-
ancy-an air that generally pervades a spot which
has been the scene of a startling drama, and where

NE W CLERK OF THE HOUSE OF FItOmxT. 333

too, the end is not yctTri^ doors stoodTi^y
open ; the carpets were taken up, and the Ions? tahle
m the dming-room was still loaded with glass and
China and the remains of the snpper. The niin.ded
odors of faded flowers and puneli assailed Kisler on
«»'f »««• There, too, was the piano, with the
music of Ori,h,:.e aux Eiifors " upon it. Tlie win-
dow's were tlirown up, and the lace cnrtains waved in
the trosli morning breozo. The whole aspect of the
rooms suggested a shipwrecked steamer, whose pas-
sengers had escaped only witli their lives.
_ Risler superintended the porters who were mov-
ing the furniture. All the Inxury that had filled
his heart with innocent pride now inspired him with
unconquerable disgust. But, when he entered his
wife 8 apartment, his emotion nearly choked him
It was a large room, hung with light-blue silk-white
lace and ribbons everywhere-at the windows and
on the Pompadour toilet-table. On the floor lay a
faded flower, a spray of aitiflcial roses, a bit of lace
torn from a flounce. The candle- u.i long psyche
had burned themselves out, nU so shivered their
crystal sconces. The bed, shrouded in curtains of
blue and white, looked like a couch of state on which
no one ever slept.

At first Eisler felt a spasm of regret, but in a
moment his heart grew hot with rage and indiVna-
tion. Nothing retains so much of a woman's indi-
viduality as the room in which she lives. Even
when absent, her image still smiles on you from
ner mirror. Hfir fa vnr.;fo «i,n,-~ ,•„ i.i ,-, , . .

234

SWONIE.

work-basket ; and the whole atmosphere is filled with
her favorite perfume.

But here the thing that most vividly recalled
feidonie was an Staghre loaded with trifle^a mi-
nute chma tea-service, a microscopic fan, a gilt
shoe, a small shepherd and shepherdess exchanging
smiles and bows. This etagere seemed to be a rep-
resentation of Sidonie's character. She herself her
prmciples, her honor, her ambitions and hopes
were as trifling and as fragile as the playthings on
this piece of useless furniture.

Poor Eisler's thoughts were sad enough, while
all about him went on the noise of hammers and
heavy footsteps. The confusion momentarily in-
creased, when suddenly he heard M Ch^be's voice
m the anteroom, and his father-in-law appeared at
tlie door, irate and aggressive.

doinT^^* '' *^'' ^ ^'^'' ^''^^''^ ^^* ^^^ ^^^
" Selling out, sir."

The little man glared in a stupefied sort of way.
Selhng out I and why, if I may be permitted the
question ? "

^ " Because I choose to do so," answered Risler
in measured tones. '

^ M. Ch^be took a step forward, and said in a low
voice : " I do not deny that Sidonie's fault has been
mos grave. However, I know very little about it.
I still must remmd you of the old proverb, that it
IS better to wash our dirty linen at home. It is not
worth while, it strikes me, to offer your work-peo-

NEW CLERK OF THE HOUSE OF FROMONT.

235

pie theatrical amusements gratis. Every operative
m your factory is laughing at you and watching

those

every movement, o^uok . jiacb pane in .nose
windows lias a face behind it. You are the ]au<.h-
mg-stock of the neighborhood, my dear fellow" "
And Chebe pulled up his collar with a supercilious
air.

"So much the better. The dishonor has beeu
public ; Jet the reparation be public too."

This apparent calm indifference exasperated his
father-in-law ; he changed his tone, and began to
speak to Eisler as one speaks to children and fools

^ iiut you have no right to do what you are
doing. I shall oppose it formally with all my au-
thonty as a father. Do you think that you will be
a owed to turn my child into the street ? Kot at
all, and nothing more shall be taken from the
house."

And M. Ch^be planted himself before the door
wi h a martial air. He was superb in this attitude,
but It did not last long : he was quietly seized by
two strong arms, and placed in, the centre of the
room, while the workmen went in and out as they
pleased. ^

" Listen to me," said Eisler, earnestly. « I am
at the end of my patience. For hour- I have
placed a curb on my tongue; but this cannot last,
I warn you. You had better leave me. lam in
the mood to kill some one; I give you fair warn-

ivisler s tone was so full of suppressed fury,

236

SWONIE.

his eyes blazed so fierce a fire, that Ch^be was
convinced that obedience was the better part o1
vaW, to say nothing of discretion. He stamm red
a few words of apology, as he gradually got nearer
to . r •; M V'" """^'"'''' ''^ ""gered'lof g en,!

to eJjf-^T'"'^ ^''^''■' "^"' '^'> "°t be tempted
to exceed it, for my position here is no longer the
Bame and I am not now a partner in the firm "

Uiebe opened a pair of astonished eyes, but said
no one word Was this man his meek'soS f^t
Was this R,3,,r, ^1,0 bristled all over at the least
syllab e, and who talked of killing people so coolly
-He slunk obsequiously down the stairs, but at
he outer door resumed his usual vain-glori'ous air
and, when he passed Achille at the gL. was the
same pompous little man that had entered.

When every room was empty, Kisler took thn
key and went to the cashier's office

witrsimour' '" '^ "^'' "^"'^ '-'''' *^« ^0-

« But what will become of you, my friend ? »

=„ u ^-^."""^^ ^ery little; I will put a bed
somewhere up in the attic here "

George who wa. with the cashier, was so over-
whelmed by these sad words that h; precipitate^

tTEW CLERK OF THE HOUSE OF FRQ MONT. 237

"It is of him I think, madame, ail tlie time "
ne answered, simply. '

AchiUe at that moment entered with a lar-e
paclcage of letters; Risler took them, opened them,
one after another, and then handed tliem over to
oigismond.

tZ^"" °''*'f .^"■"T ^^''"'' ''""t'^er from Saint-
Etienne-" Suddenly he stopped. Among the largo
busmess envelopes he .aw another, much smaller,
sea ed with care. He recognized the writing at onoe
In the corner was written " Personal." It was from
Sidonie. Beholding it, he felt precisely as he did on
entermg her apartment an hour previous

AH his love r.nd all hfs anger did battle within
hi8heart._ Why had she M-ritten ? Wliat falsehood
had she mvented? He began to open the letter,
then hesitated. H' .-v clearly that, to read it, he
needed more courage and calmness than were then
nis.

« Sigismond," he said, in a low voice, " will von
do me a favor?" ^

"Indeed I will," answered the cashier, overjoyed
to hear once more a kind word from Kisler

"Look here-this is a letter that I cannot read
now. I am sure it would prevent me from thinking
and acting. Keep it for me, and take this too » (and
he drew from his pocket a small package, carefully
sealed, and handed the two to Sigismond) "It
IS all that remains to me of the past; all that
remains to me of that woman. I am determined
iic, ... ,...,.. ^^,^ ,,^, ,y yyg anjti|iiig tiiat can recall

238

SIDONIE.

her, so long as I remain in this eotabh'shment. You
understand that I need all my head. You must pay
to Ch^be his allowance. If she herself should come
to ask anything, you will do all that is necessary
without consulting me. But never mention her
name to me ; and you will take the best of care of
these thmgs which I intrust to you."

Sigismond placed the let-: ^^r and the package in
a secret drawer of his desk, until his friend should
reclaim them. Then Risler returned to his corre-
spondence, but for some time he saw nothing save
the long, slender letters traced by the little hand
which he had so often, and so tenderly, clasped
within his own.

CHAPTER y.

A CONCERT-EOOM.

NiOHT after night Risler's lamp burned until
the morning sun shamed its feeble rays. He had
fm..hed for himself, away „p amon.^ the elve^

he W . T' r^'^ •■^^"''"Ming the one in' which
he had hved with Frant.. He worked constantly;
but alas! youth and hope were gone, and with them

fL-^ !> '™/ *^ "^^ "^*- To be sure. Frantz
and Madame George were left him; their love and
their fnendship were real, and of these two persons
he could think without sadness. Claire environed
him with kindly attentions, and Frantz wrote con-
stantly As he never spoke of Sidonie, Risler felt
Bure that some one had told him all that had
happened ; and, in his turn, he equally avoided any
allusion to the humiliating subject.

" When I can summon him home ! " was Risler's
constant thought; it was his dream, his only am-
bition-first, to place the manufactory on a solM
basis, and then to recall Frantz, and to pass the r^
mamder of his life wfth him. The days were all
much ahke; each morning he descended to the
work-rooms, where the Tirnfn,,r,fi -

tr\Cf%^

peet iic inspired,

240

BID OKIE.

ill

his serious face and decided manner, had restored
the order and discipline disturbed for a brief period
For a time there had been much gossip in re-ard
to feidonie's disappearance. Some said she °had
eloped with a lover, others that Risler had driven
her away. But the thing that disturbed both of
these beliefs was the position assumed toward each
other by the former partners. Sometimes, howevei-
when they were alone together, Eisler had a sudden
access of rage as he remembered how those lips had
Jied to hiiri— those eyes betrayed him. Then he
had a mad longing to seize George by the throat,
and to crush his very life out. But the thought of
Madame George always restrained him. Should
he be less courageous, less strong, than that frail
woman? Neither Claire nor Fromont suspected
these thoughts ; they simply saw a restraint and
coldness that were not altogether natural The
operatives were uneasy under the glance of his stedl-
blue eyes, and felt a profound respect for his gray
hairs---for he had grown very gray and very thin.

Thanks to him, the old bell of the factory had
resumed Its ancient authority; and Risler, kind and
thoughtful as he was to the industrious, allowed no
mfringenient of rules. On the last day of every
month Chebe made his appearance, and as punctu-
ally was paid three-quarters of Risler's salary-re-
tamedbySigismondinhis hands for that purpose
Once or twice Madame Chebe, who sincerely loved
and pitied her son-in-law, made an attempt to see
him, but the mere sight of the well-known shawl

A COycSRT-JlOOM.

241

put him to flight Was it that 'th^^^^^^^^

h.m ? What had become of her ? " he asked him-
elf, constantly, "where was she 2" He wished
«iat Planus would speak to him of her ; and that
etter, above ail-that letter which he had not had
the courage to open-haunted him, waking and
8 eepmg. Had he dared, he would have asked it
^Zf ^T" ?"' "^'^ *° temptation was too

hadf: *' T It '" "'" °ffl««-tl>e old cashier
had gone to breakfast, leaving-a most unheardK-f
tl,ang h,s key ni the desk. Ris]., could not resist
th,s he opened the secret drawer, but the letter wa8

secure drawer, or perl.aps meant to avoid precisely

glad of this, for he knew only too well that, should
he read that letter, his resignation and apparent
cheerfulness would come to an end. He managed

Ind .f "'•' .'7""^ '' ^'' ""'' ^^'•'y '•"'^ ^^"'•ked hard,
and at n.ght slept a sleep of utter exhaustion. But

Sundays were inexpressibly painful to him. The

profound silence that per^-aded the building left

hnn leisure to think. Sometimes he tried to draw

to invent new combinations of flowers and foliage!

but while he moved his pencil, his thoughts rioted

ll " "T,:, "' *''°"^'^* "^ ^'' ""«•• ''""dness, of
his laughable simplicity, of his irretrievable shamo
and misfortunes, until his whole soul quivered with

pSiil,

,i'*

242

SID OKIE.

Oh, those fearful Sundays ! Remember that he
was a son of the people; that he had all their love
for the day as a day of rest and of simple, quiet en-
joyment. Had he gone out, the sight of a work-
man with his wife and child would have stabbed
him like a knife ; but his secluded, solitary hfe pre-
served him from these pangs.

• Often in such sad moments the door would open,
and Claire Fromont would appear. The desolation
of the poor man on these long Sundays filled her
kind heart with compassion, and she came with her
little girl, knowing by experience that children have
a strange power to take the ache from sore Jid
wounded hearts. The child ran to her friend with
joy and shouts of delight. Risler heard the little
hurrying steps, and, turning, would take her in his
arms, her soft kisses on his cheek, and her dimpled
hands smoothing his worn brow; and then he grew
calmer.

Claire smiled gently.

" Come, Kisler, my friend, the garden is fresh
and lovely. You work too much."

" ISTo, madame, my work is my best friend ; it
keeps me from thinking."

**But, my dear Risler, you must try to forget."

" Is that possible ? One may forgive, but not
forget."

Almost always the child f icceeded in drago-ino^
him away— he must play wi Hi her; but soon his
gravity struck even the child, and she learned to
walk quietly at his side throuo-h th^ flnwpr.T.o^a

CONCERT-ROOM.

243

almost forgot her presence, but the soft little hand

cerSdreL!""'"''^'"'^^"'"^ '^'"'™ "^^ ''^ "'"
"One may forgive, hut not forget 1 "
Jr-oor Claire recognized the melancholy truth of
these words, for she had forgotten nothL' whilp
she carefully f„m„ed every d!.ty. She as\e, 1

£epwt?T™'''> everything 'that could
keep her wound open. The staircase and the gar-
den had on some days an almost unbearable L-
n.ficance. Even the care taken by her husband f.
apare her these painful recollection! an^d as^St
-the resolution he had adopted always to pass his
evenmgs with her; the care he took a^waysTo te
lier where he had been, whom he had seen^n '
eerved to keep alive the memory of his fault. She
^^met.mes longed to say to him, " Do less-say

Coniidence was destroyed, and a certain pained

date^hTf ^T ""'r^^y ""''^PPy- ^' tWs late
date he had learned to love his wife. The gener-

hadtl Z "'*"'■'' '^' '"••="«"' °f '■«■• «''«raeter,
had taken h.m captive. Her cool reserve acted upon

He had always found his wife too loving, too tender,
bhewas always the same, while Sidonie was full of
caprices; one day she quarreled with him. the n«vf
«ue was jealous and exacting, the third indilferent.

7J\

244

SIDONIE.

The peaceful serenity of his wife's affection wearied
him. Besides, he had hitherto been sure of it; now
he felt that Claire was indifferent, and that the only
tie between them was their child. Yet he did not
altogether despair. As to Sidonie, he rarely or never
thought of her ; and let no one be amazed at this
sudden change. In these two superficial natures
there was nothing that could inspire a profound at-
tachment ; George was incapable of receiving any
lasting impresssion— Sidonie equally incapable of
making one. It was one of those shallow affairs,
born of vanity and^ idleness, in which neither devo-
tion nor constancy had any part. Perhaps, had he
seen her, he might have felt a quicker beating of the
heart, but she had been totally swept away in the
wind of that gusty night ; every trace of her had
vanished. It was a relief to live again without per-
petual falsehoods, and, though his daily existence
was one of much labor and many privations, he was
not discontented with his lot. The burden of decep-
tion was lifted from him, and the consequent relief
was enormous.

Prosperous days were at last dawning on the
house. Four of Eisler's new machines were in full
operation in the factory, and all the establishments
at Lyons began to grow extremely uneasy. Finally,
an enormous sum was offered for one of the ma-
chines.

" What shall we say ? " asked George.

" "Whatever you choose," replied Kisler. " I am

no lonsrer vonr nartnpr "

A. OOSCERT-ROOil.

246

, l.^,*?'" ""''^ «-0'-d8 el.illed and marred Fromo^s
del.glit. But, when aloae with Madame George

awS .^1r" ^'" '"'" ""' *° ^" y«'' but to wtit •
awinle. He seemed only to think of them and of

the.r prosperity, not of himself as having any con-
cern with the matter. o j' "

Meanx.hile orders kept pouring in. The quality
of the>r paper, the prices so much lower on account
of then- superior facilities for manufacture, made all
competition wrth the Fromont papers simply impos-
sible. Evidently a magnilicent fortune was in the

old look of prosperity. A new building was in pro-
cess of erection, intended to relieve the busy crowd
of work-people who tilled the older one likesomany
bees Planus was busy over his books all day, but
his face was radiant with satisfaction.

Eisler was always busy, never seeking amuse-
ment or rest. Returning prosperity changed no
one of his personal habits, nor was he less silent
or less reserved. But one day, when the intelligence
had arrived that his new invention, a model of which
had been sent to the exposition at Manchester, had
received the gold medal-the highest prize-Madame
George sent for h.m to join her in the garden, that
6he might tell him the good news herself.

r.„ T7*''° ^'f *™^ " '""'^ brightened his sad
face. His pride as an inventor was gratified, and
E.sler took his friend's hands with a warm grasp.
I am happy, so happy ! » he said ; but what a differ-
ence m ms tonel-the words were uttered without

246

SIDONIE.

enthusiasm, without hope. He was simply glad to
have accomplished the task assigned to him.

The bell rang to summon the work-people from
their noon leisure. Risler obeyed also, and returned
to his drawing-table.

But he soon came down again, for the news had
moved him more than he wished any one to suppose.
He wandered up and down the garden, and smiled
sadly enough at oid Sigismond as he passed the
window.

" What does he want ? " said the old man to him-
self, puzzled at this unwonted restlessness. But, in
the evening, jus^ as the cashier was locking up, Ris-
ler came to hin).

"Planus, my friend, I would like—" (here he
hesitated)— "you may give me that letter now, with
the package too."

Sigismond looked utterly dumfounded. Stupidly
enough, he had fancied that Risler thought no more
of Sidonie ; that he had forgotten her.

" What I you want—"

" Listen ! I can afford to think a little now of
my own affairs. Hitherto, I have allowed myself to
think only of others."

"Very true," said Planus; "now let me tell you
what we had best do : The letter and the package
are both at Montrouge. Suppose we dine together
at the Palais Royal, as we used to do sometimes;
for it is not every day that a man receives a gold
medal, and we wiU drink a bottle of good wine in
its honor; then you shall go home with me and

A COXCERT-ROOM,

spend the niglit, and to-morrow at seven o'clock wo
wiU take the lirst omnibus to town. Do mo thig
favor, it is so long since we passed an evening to-
gethor." Kisler consented, not so much to do honor
to his medal as to hasten by some hours the moment
in which he could open that little letter. He must
dress, which in itself was an exertion, for it was six
months since he had put on anything but an office-
coat.

Madame Fremont was summoned to the window
by an exclamation of wonder, uttered by her nurse,
and the sight of Risler's bowed form ^oing out of
the gate with Sigismond caused her a Am^ ..lar pang,
and one which she remembered long sfterw, rd.

In th( street he received many coi «ial g oetings,
which seemed to gladden his heart, whue the noist!
and confusion bewildered his brain.

" My head is dizzy and weak," he said to Planus.

*'Take my arm, and don't think about it," an-
swered his friend, gayly.

The two men entered the restaurant, and took a
table that stood in a recess of a window, whence they
could see the deep green of the trees, and the gay
stream of the passers-by. This was Sigismond's
idea of luxury— this large room, all gilding and
mirrors. As each course was served, Sigismond
would insist on Rislei-'s trying it. He did his best,
in his anxiety to gratify his friend, but he had little
appetite.

" Ho you remember, Sigismond ? " he said, finally.
II nai, ; Aiiu iiiot Lime we amea iiere s

f f

248

8 ID ON m

Risler shook h,s head. «0h, no. I am speaking

rl^ I r"'' T"- ^' ^"^ «'«'•«' '" "'^' very
room that we dined three years ago»_and he

showed his friend Vefour's sin oppo" ite, the wi^
dows of wh.ch gh-ttered in the setting s„n.

whv 2'!"^'" ""™""-<=d Sigismond, in confusion,-
why had he brought his unfortunate friend to a place
that recalled to him so much that was painful ? ffi^

"To'r""^ *?r"''" *''*' ^^P''^'' ™««<J h'-« glass:
To your health, old friend." He tried to turn the

rrr^t.'^"' ;^- ~- '-r he himsel?

" Have you seen her ? "
II Your wife? No, not once."
" She has not written again ? "
"Ko, never."

her",?llfT). """'' ^T ^''^^ ^^^^^^^^^"^ -^^"t
ents?" "'''''^'- ^' '^^^ ^'^'^ ^'^ P«r

"i^o, she isnot."

was^^d!" tr^ "P P"'"- ^"^ ''°P^'^ «'»' Sidonie

llbor H. L '"■' .''■'P''''*"'^ *^ P»^' by daily

now heafnf f f "'"'r,'^ *"* ''^ "l^"' ^e should
now hear of her he would regulate his future life;

tar-distant land where the shameful past would bo
unknown. Ho had, to be sure, made'no pfan bu

^nd irken^i:;:. '-'-' -' -^- ^'- o^ ^«

silenci "* '" ^"^ ' " ^'''''' ''^'^' *^'^^ « '"°'"«»t'''

A CONCERT-ROOM.

249

" No, she has been gone three months, and no
one knows wliere she is."

Sigismond did not add that slie had gone with
Casaboni, whose name she now bore, and that her
mother was broken-hearted. Sigismond saw no need
of telling these facts, and so sat in silence.

Risler, in his turn, said no more. At that mo-
ment the military band, under the trees in the gar-
den, struck up an air from an Italian opera. Risler
started, and, turning to the window, listened with
pleasure to the cheering tones. When the mus*}
ceased, the garden became gradually deserted — a
faint ray of the lingering day gilded the distant
spires and upper windows — while the twittering
swallows clustered under the eaves.

"Where shall we go now said the cashier, as
they left the restaurant.
" Wherever you please."

Just below, in La Rue do , was a concert-
room, where a number of persons were hurrying.
" Suppose \jQ go in, too, for a half-hour? " said Si-
gismond, anxious to cheer his friend, if possible.

Risler made no objection. It was an old restau-
rant transformed into a concert-liall. Three good-
sized rooms were turned into one, divided by gilded
columns. Although it was early, there was a crowd
assembled. The air was suffocating, and the glare
of the gas bewildering. Little tables were scattered
about, and at the extreme end of the apartment sat
several women in white, upon a raised platform.
Our two friends had much difficulty in finding

I !

I-'
\

250

BID ONI E.

seats, but finally succeeded in establishing them-
selves in a corner, whence only a partial view could
be obtained of the platform-at that moment occu-
pied by a magnificent personage in a black coat and
yellow gloves.

The public— the small merchants of the neigh-
borhood, with their wives and ih^iv fiancees-wlv^
highly delighted with the romance he was sin^inff •
but Rislcr and Sigismond drank their beer, without
paying much attention to the music, when suddenly
the cashier exclaimed, just as the romance came to
an end :.

" There is Dolobelli) ! "

Truly enough, the old actor was there, close to
the^ mmiature stage. He was carelessly leaning
agamst a pillar-dressed with the most punctilious
care — his linen was dazzling, and his Mack coat
was decorated with a camellia. He occasionally ex-
amined the crowd with the air of a man who acci-
dentally finds himself among his inferiors; but his
attention was mainly directed to the platform, where
he turned continually with an encouraging smile or
gesture, intended for some one whom Planus could
not see, on account of the intervening pillars There
was nothing very extraordinary in the presence of
old Dolobelle in this concert-hall, and yet the cashier
felt a certain uneasiness— above all, when he saw
Madame Dobson's blond curls and pale-])hie eyes
among the audience. Amid the smoKo of the pipes
and the noisy crowd, these two faces had the effect
of two ghosts, or of illusions in a bad dream. Ha

A CONCERT-ROOM.

251

felt afraid for his friend, and yet he knew not why,
nor what he had to dread ; but he determined to
take him away.

" Come, Risler, let us go; the heat is intolerable
here ! "

Just as they rose— for Bisler was as willing to
go as to stay — the orchestra, composed of a piano
and several violins, began a singular air. " Ilush ! "
cried several persons. " Be seated ! " cried others.

They were obliged to resume their places. But
Risler felt a vague discomfort. " I know that air,"
he said ; " where have I heard it ? "

Vociferous applause, and an exclamation from
Sigismond, made him turn round.

" Come, quick— let us go ! " said the cashier.
But it was too late I Risler had seen his wife come
forward to the edge of the platform, and bow to the
public, with the air of a ballet-dancer.

She wore a white dress, as she had done the last
time he saw her ; but the materia vas less rich, and
the whole style vulgar in the extreme. Her dress
did not cover her shoulders ; her hair was crimped
and waved, until it met her eyebrows ; and around
her throat was a necklace of pearls too large to be
real. Dolobelle was quite correct in his judgment.
She was thoroughly at home in Bohemia, and had
acquired that unmistakable stamp—that air of utter
indifference to all pure and noble influences. And
how perfectly unembarrassed she was I

Ah ! had she seen that despairing, terrible look
in those eyes which were fixed on her at the other

UtI

252

SIDONIE.

end of the room, her smile would have lacked its
serenity, and her voice would never have been so
smooth as she sang the languishing notes of the only
romance Madame Dobson had ever been able to
teach her:

"Pauvre petit Mam'zelle Zizi,
C'est I'ainou', I'amou', qui tourne— "

Risler rose to his feet, in spite of all his friend's
entreaties.

" Down ! down ! " some one cried.
But he heard nothing, saw nothing, save Ridonie.
" C'est Tamou', ramou'— "

continued his wife, with a seductive glance He
asked himself if he should leap on the platform and
kill her, then and there ! He saw flashes of hVht-
nmg pass before his eyes, and felt a mad, beast-like
anger and rage. But, suddenly, shame and disgust
filled his soul, and he rushed out of the room, scat-
tering chairs and tables on his way, and followed by
exclaliations of amazement and disapproval from
the scandalized auditors.

CHAPTER YI.

THE VENGEANCE OF 8IDDNIE.

Never, in the whole twenty years that he had
lived at Montronge, had Sigismond staid out so
late without giving notice previously to his sister.
Consequently, she ^^as in a state of excessive anxiety.
For months she had shared all her brother's anxi-
eties, and this night she said to herself, " It is to be
hoped that there is no new trouble at the factoiy."
She had sent her dinner away untasted. And now
behold her, in a state of painful agitation, walking
up and down her little parlor.

Suddenly, the door-bell rang; but the faint
sound in no way resembled her brother^s usual as-
sault on that bell-handle.

" Is it you ? " she asked from within.
^ It was he ; but not alone. A tall man entered
with Sigismond, and said good-evening in a low
voice. Not until he spoke did the kind-hearted
woman recognize Eisler, whom she had not seen
since the day when she called upon Sidonie— that is
to say, some time before the sad events that had
darkened his life. It was with difficulty that she
restrained an exclamation of pity and astonishment.

254

8 W OKIE.

"Listen: will yo:i kindly get mj roora in readi-

'"'^'/''^T '''''^' ^'^'^ ^'^^ P^«^ *^e ^%ht with
usT' said Sigismond.

Mademoiselle Planus arranged the apartment

with tender care, for be it understood that, with the

exception of her brother, Risler was the only man

who escaped the reprobation she lavi'shed apon his
sex* •

Coming out of the concert-room, Sidonle's hus-
band had a few minutes of frightful excitement.
Ihcre was no thought now of the letter and the
package at Montrougtl « I must be a^ no," he said
sternly to Sigismond But ih:, other would not
W him in his despair. Unp.^coN-ed by Risler,
his friend drew him far away froii. \h^ nannifactory
am the kind heart as well as acuio brain of the
cashier fold him what to say to his friend. During
their hn^ walk he spoke only of Frant.~his brother
J^rantz, who ioved him so doarly.

"Yes there is true affeclbn; you have Frantz
always to lean on, Risler ; he will never fail you »
These words soot^)od Risler almost unconsciously
and he made no objection when Sigismond insisted
on taking him to his own house. The old man felt
that Kisler, on seeing the calm serenity of the little
home where the brother and sister lived too-ether
might be led to think of a similar one for himself
and Frantz. And, in fact, hardly had they entered
the door when the sweet homeliness made itself felt
^ " Ye?, you are right," said Risler. «I must
think no more of this wnman «},« ja *../.»n_ j ,

THE VENGEANCE OF 8ID0NIE. 255

to me from this time forward. I have no one in the
world belonging to me now, save Frantz. I cannftt
yet tell whether I shall go to him, or send for him
to return to me. One thing, however, is a' olutely
certain— we must pass the residue of our lives to-
gether. He lias always been more like a son than
a br vaier to me, and I feel the need of him to lean
upon.^ Once, I longed to die; now, I mean to live
— to live for and with my Frantz."

*^^*Biavo!" cried Sigismond. "Now, you are
talking like a man of sense, and as I like to hear
jou ! "

At this moment, Mademoiselle Planus came to
say that Eisler's room was in readiness.

liisler apologized for the trouble and disturbance
he had caused. « You are so happy here," he said,
*' that it seems a shame to bring the burden of my
sorrows under your roof."

"But you will soon be as happy as we are,"
interrupted Sigismond, gently; "you with yoilr
brother, and I with my sister."

Risler smiled in a dreamy way. He saw vaguely
before him a new home, a peaceful dweUing, Frante
and himself its sole inmates.

"It is late," cried Planus, cheerfully. "To bed
with you ! "

Sigismond's room was large and airy— simply
furnished, but exquisitely fresh and clean. The old
cashier looked about it with pride. A glass of water
was on a small table at the head of the bed, and a
case of razors lay open on the bureau, ready for use.

256

81 DON IE.

" Look, Risler, and see if jou have all you want.
I think everything is here— but, should you need
any tiling, the drawers are not locked, you' have but
to open them. And just look out at the view; you
can't see much of it to-night, to be sur(5, but in the
morning, when you wake, you will find that it is
Buperb."

He opened the window— large drops of rain
were beginning to fall, and sudden streaks of heat-
lightning showed the black clouds, the long line of
fortifications, or the telegraph-wires. The step of
the patrol was heard occasionally, accompanied by
the rattle of a musket or a sabre, and served to re-
mind the listener that he was within the military
zone. This was the prospect t - much vaunted by
Planus— a prospect dreary and monotonous enough.
" And now, good-night ; sleep well ! "

But, as the old man closed the door, his friend
called him back.

" Sigismond ! "

The good man waited. Risler colored slightly ;
his lips moved ; no words were heard ; then, with a
great effort, he said :

" Kever mind, nothing. To-morrow will do I "

In the dining-room the brother and sister talked
seriously and long in low voices. Planus told of the
terrible occurrences of the evening, and described
Sidonie's appearance. Finally, one of them locked
the door into the garden, and Sigismond made
himself comfortable in a small room next iiis sis-
ter.

TnEjEmEANCE OF SWONIE.

257

In the middle of the nio-hf fL« i •
flw«V«nn.i K r . , "^^^"> tiie casluer was

-L>id jou hear anything ? »
" Ko, what was it ? "

it oZV "' ''"' f"ghtf»l-agroan, so full of agonv •

It came Irom your room below " ° •^'

They listened. The rain was coming down in

Sot"' """°^ ''""'"« ^''^ ^"""^^ -'I o» «-

"Itis the wind," said Sigismond.
-No, It was not. Hark 1 "

In the momenta,^ hash of the storm they heard
the wail of a human voice. ^ ^

" Frantz ! Frantz ! "

MadtlSSr™ ' '''°' ''"'''' p"-^--^ °f

" Jt^-" frightened," she said. « Go and see- »

In the morning he awoke as nsual at the reveille
o he forts, for the little house so near the fo S
h ations regulated all its movements by those of
Its mihtary guardians. His sister was feedin„ her

yet the window is wide o^mP °

258

8ID0NIE.

Sigismond, somewhat astonislied himself, knocked
at the door.

" Risler I Kisler I " He called again, with some
anxiety, " Are you asleep still ? "

iNTo answer came, and he opener' . ., . The
room was deadly cold ; the win low nad evidently
been open all night. At the fii. c glance at the bed
Planus thought, " He sat up all night." The cover-
ings of the bed were in truth undisturbed, a^ ' u
every detail of the apartiaent a night of sleepless-
ness was revealed. ' The lump was still smoking ;
the glass of water was ospty; but the thing that
most disturbed the casliicr waa»the sight of the bu-
reau-drawer in which lie had deposited the letter
and package, wide open and empty.

The package lay on the table, and contained
some photographs of Sidonie, taken when she .vas
but fifteen. The simple muslin dress, close in the
throat; the hair parted over l\e pretty forehead;
the somewhat awkward attitude, bore little resem-
blance to the Sidonie of the later days ; and it was
precisely for that reason that Risler had kept these
photographs.

Sigismond was overwhelmed wit., consternation.
'' It is my fault," he said ; " I ought to have locked
them up. But who would ha\o thought that 1.9
cared still ? He swore that this woman no lono-er
existed for him ! "

At this mo'nent his sister entered.

" He has gone I " she cried.

" Gone ? Impc i^Ible ; the gate was locked."

THE VENGEANCE OF SIDONJ

269

dpnt'^f ^'' f'""^'^ '''^''' ^^^^ ^^^^ J ^'t is quite evi.
dent, the marks are there."

Sigismond looked blankly at her

" It is that letter I » he muttered

donie T] ''^^'''''^''' *^"« communication from Si-
dome had given her husband some astounding h

SEetjJ" r^ ^^.^ *^ ^^^^-^ ^^^^'^^^^^^^ e

a wimW pT'!'^' ' '"'^^^'^'^^^ ^««^'^«"^. through
a window. J5ut where had he gone ?

, i^ou ^^ll see," said poor Sigismond as ho hu.
nedlj swallowed his breakfast - I.af t ' •
wretch of a wife has nW • '' ^^^<^rMe

tv\o}' " A 11 . ^^^^ ^'"" ^^'^^^ new rascally

n,VI,?'pM '■"^^' ''''^''^ ^^ *''« '"^'■'vy rain of the

^?^ * 1 .1 ® ^"^e broken down i v Tiic

feet, and the wall was n-vori x.i i ; • ^

upon it Onl f -^ ^'^''^ ^^ ^^'^^ climbed

upon It. Once outside, it was impossible to trace

" VYhj need we disturb ourselve ? " said Mad^.
moiselle Planus, finally • " h« 1.0 x , ? ^^

back to the factor^v" ^ ' '' ^^'^^^^^^^^ ^^"^

Sigismond shook his head. Alas ! he dared nnf
..ve utterance ,, his thoughts and fe^r! ' Eet^^^^^^
to the house," he said, sadly, "and T w^ T
ther and ascertain Jf o^. .1^^ I will go far-

. - . ■ -^^j -i«-- aas seen iiim."

At this particular hour a ereat n.n^

I" » great nany persons

260

SID ON IE.

were always to be met on the ramparts and on the
road to the forts ; but Planus saw a small group
huddled together ; instinctively he turned his steps
in that direction. As he drew nearer, he naw a cus-
tom-house official sitting on a stoue step by the side
of the liuge iron gate. The man was speaking
loudly, and gesticulating with much earnestness.

"It was just here," he saiu, « that I found him
hanging. He was stone dead. If his rope had
broken, he meant, I* think, to use that razor he had
in his pocket."

Some one in the crowd said, " Poor fellow I "
Then another voice, choked with emotion, asked if
he were really dead.

Everybody laughed, and turned to look at Planus.

" You can see for yourself," the man answered,
roughly ; « the body was carried to those barracks
over there."

The barracks were very near, and yet Planus
had the greatest difficulty in dragging himself there.
To be sure, suicides were by no means rare in
Paris, and hardly a day passed that a body was not
taken down from some part of that long line of for-
tifications ; and yet Planus felt but too sure of what
he was to see and hear.

" Ah I you have come to look at the suicide,"
said the sentinel. « Go in ; he is there."

They had placed the body on a long pine table ;
over it was thrown an officer's cloak. A group of
BoMiers was in the room, and two or three cavalry-
officers, all talking with voices lowered as if in a

THE VENOBAKCE OF SIDOA'IE.

■ 261

Siffismond said, gently, "Can I see him ?» and

tne table. After a inoment's hesitation i.n i

away the cloak fronuhe marble fir '" '""

blie killed you at last, dear old fripnrl t » ™
■nnred Planus, as ho fell on his knees. '"' ' ■""■
Ihe officers drew a little nearer, to look at H,.
dead man, but remained silent and .mco!: ed '

on somethrnP "'' ^'"^ ^' '-*' " '^ ^^ - «'osed

"I dare say," answered the maiVr «= i
Droanhpfl «T» u major, as he ap-

proached. "Don't you remember at Solferinr
when Bordy was shot, he held a miniature of h'
daughter so tightly that it was with glei:
difficulty we could take it away ? " As ho »n.r v.

18 a let er,» he said, and was about to read ft wbe„
-d^denly recollecting himself, he handedl!; t^

BomeSfwislit ' '' ''' P^^^-'P'' «- -P-ion of

V- o^/w/ye/ fc/-^iri ourselves. " . "

• • .

262

SID ON IE.

It was the letter written by Fraotz to Lis sister-
in-law, more than a year before. Sidonie had sent
it to her husband the day after her flight, meaning
to avenge herself on him and on his brotlier at the
same time, and by the same blow.

Risler lived through the treachery of his wife ;
but his brother's falsehood killed him.

When Sigismond's bewildered brain finally
grasped the fatal meaning of these words, he stood
thunderstruck, looking through the large, open win-
dow with blank eyes ^ which saw nothing.

A clock struck six. Below lay Paris, overhung
by low clouds of smoke and mist. By degrees, a
spire— a tower— or the white front of a marble
building— emerged from the fog. And, all at once,
a thousand chimneys belched forth dense volumes of
black smoke. The work of another day had begun.

Planus extended his trembling hands with angry
vehemence.

" Wretch I " he cried—" wretch I "

But no one about him knew whom he addressed
—whether it was the fair city of Paris, or the guilty
woman who had wrought such infinite woe.

THE END,

ter-
ent
ing
the

fe;

illj
)od
in-

I, a

ble

ce,

'M
ed