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LEISURE HOUR SERIES

A PSYCHE OF TO DAY

MRS.C.JENKIN

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UIIIH11IIII1. I

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

(Leisure Hour Series)

JUPITER'S DAUGHTERS.
WHO BREAKS PAYS.
SKIRMISHING.
MADAME DE BEAUPRE.
A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

LEISURE HOUR SERIES.

A Psyche of To-Day

Mrs. C. Jenkin

AUTHOR OF "WHO BREAKS PAYS," "SKIRMISHING," ETC

"I pray you, in your letters,
When you shall these unlucky deeds relate,

Nothing extenuate,

Nor set down aught in malice." — Shakspeare.

NEW YORK
HENRY HOLT & COMPANY

1874

THIS STORY

IS DEDICATED, WITH GREAT ESTEEM,

MONSIEUR LE PRESIDENT FELIX GILLON.

CONTENTS.

BOOK I.

CHAP. PAGE

I. Who is She ? 7

II. Passing on 17

III. French Precaution % 27

IV. An Old Town 38

V. A Soiree in the Old Town 48

VI. The Shadow op Evil 59

VII. Youth and Age 66

VIII. Breakers Ahead 75

IX. " It's op no use, Madame" 85

X. " Jeune Fille au Nom Male et Feer comme

ton Cosur" 101

XI. Lions 113

XII. Definitions 121

XIII. Caprices and Dreams 131

XIV. A Little Fool 140

XV. Happy ! 154

BOOK II.

XVI. An Anniversary 161

XVII. Ripples on the Lake of Matrimony 174

XVIII. Hlnc ill.e Lachrym^e 182

XIX. Clouds And Mist 201

XX. A Significant Silence 215

XXI. Dark Shadows flee 224

XXII. Psyche insists on lighting her Lamp 240

XXIII. Our Hopes are Frozen Tears 255

XXIV. Dying Echoes 263

XXV. A PiAINBOW ABOVE THE WRECK 270

A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

BOOK I

C HAP T E R I.

WHO IS SHE?

Paris was out of town — gone to Trouville, Baden-
Baden, Biarritz, Switzerland.

No one that was any one was to be met on the
pavement between the Madeleine and the Rue de
Richelieu, save some young officials of government
offices, hungering and thirsting after their annual
leave of absence.

R was the month of August, close on the 15th,
the epoch of official compliments, of illuminations,
distributions of small crosses of the Legion of
Honor, of theatres opened gratis for the million of
nobodies.

In a darkened salon in a house in the Rue Blanche
sat, or rather reclined, in her red-leather Spanish
chair, Madame Claire Saincere, exactly as her
nephew Paul has painted her: a picture that mer-

8 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

ited the grand prize of Rome, which he has just
obtained, much more than his enormous "Thetis
arming Achilles." It was this success of her nephew
that had detained Madame Claire in Paris. She had
been waiting until Paul should take his departure
for his native town, en route for Italy, before setting
out herself to join some friends at Interlachen.

In the mean while that little dark girl sitting op-
posite to her had arrived, threatening another delay
to the annual Swiss tour. Yet when Paul entered
the salon on this hot Sunday (he always dined with
his aunt on Sundays), he did not perceive a trace of
vexation on the fair face — fair in spite of the half-
century it had seen.

The cool quiet room was what the young artist
wanted. He had walked thither in a blaze of sun-
shine from the other side of the river, and he felt as
a man might do, who, in the desert, suddenly came
on palm-trees and a fountain. He kissed his charm-
ing aunt, and was about to speak when she said,
" Look there !"

He then perceived the little girl dressed in black,
sitting so uncomfortably upright, and with her
eyes at that moment fixed in a wide stare on him-
self.

" Who is she ?" he asked in a low voice.

" Come here, my child," called the lady.

The girl rose, and came toward the aunt and
nephew, her head erect, her shoulders thrown back,
her step firm and free, her whole mien that of one
conscious of some superiority.

wno is she? 9

"Will you shake hands with me and tell me your
name ?" said Paul.

She gave him her small brown hand, saying — "I
am called Regina."

Paul was astonished at the sonority of her voice,
and said, by way of saying something, " Regina is
an uncommon name. Do you know that it means
queen ?"

" Yes. I am a Hungarian, and I can speak Latin,"
was the curt rejoinder.

Madame Saincere rang the bell. " Hortense," she
said to the servant who answered the summons,
"take this child with you."

Retina left the room with the same solemnitv of
demeanor with which she had approached Madame
Saincere.

As soon as she was out of hearing, Paul exclaimed,
" Who in the name of wonder is that heathenish
picturesque little mortal ?"

" She is the child of Blanche de Rochetaillee."

" What ! of the girl who ran away with that good-
for-nothing Nolopoeus."

" Exactly."

" And what has become of the unfortunate
Blanche ?"

" Dead. Husband and wife both dead."

" The best thing that could happen to them, I
think."

" Yes, as you think, young Paul."

"Well, of course, such a marriage could never
have been other than a miserable affair."

10 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

" Mistaken altogether. Blanche was happier than
most women, in that she never lost her illusion with
regard to the man for whom she had sacrificed so
much."

" It's a puzzle to me how a high-born, high-bred
French girl, could have loved that old adventurer.
It looks like sorcery."

" The sorcery of passion, my dear boy. Poor
Blanche was only sixteen when she returned home
from the convent; a rose-bud of a girl, gentle, lov-
ing, shy. The Comtesse treated her as a child ; the
Comte overlooked her entirely. The soul of the one
was in her sons ; the soul of the other in his violin.
Monsieur de Rochetaillee was a melomane. He
thought of nothing, cared for nothing but music. It
was the passion of his life; he could not live without
music and musicians. The chateau had long been
considered a sort of preserve for pianists and violin-
ists. It was at the period when Monsieur Saincere
was Procureur Imperiale at Tours, and we saw a
good deal of the Rochetaillees, who lived within an
easy drive of the town.

" If ever there was ' a human being possessed by
the demon of music, it was Sebastian Nolopceus.
Quite impossible to describe his playing. It was
such as I had never heard before nor have ever heard
since. He inspired his listeners with what emotions
he pleased. I remember once feeling as though I
must kneel at his feet and worship him. He had fine
features and an elegant figure, but was already gray-
haired — no great disadvantage to a dark man. In

WHO IS SHE? 11

spite of disparity of age and rank, in spite of differ-
ence of country, and habits of life, he won Blanche's
young heart. One morning he was missing, and so
was the young girl.

*' Monsieur Saincere was sent for to the chateau.
He and the cure were the only persons who saw the
Comte and Comtesse in the first moments of alarm,
surprise, and anger. Some days elapsed before the
fugitives were traced, and this being the case the
only reasonable thing to do was to send the consent
to her marriage, which Blanche implored in frantic
words. Monsieur Saincere and I went to witness
the marriage. After that, I believe neither father
nor mother ever pronounced their daughter's name.
The chateau was shut up. Monsieur and Madame
de Rochetaillee came to Paris, and have never since
left their hotel in the Rue St. Dominique.

" The news of the birth of the girl you have just
seen was written to me by Blanche herself, accom-
panied by an earnest prayer that I would once more
intercede for her with her parents. Their forgive-
ness was all that was wanting to her happiness.
Her husband was a genius — the best of men — per-
fection.

" I dared not broach the subject by word of mouth
to either Monsieur or Madame de Rochetaillee, so I
enclosed the letter to them — a touching letter, full
of all the babyisms of a young mother. It was re-
turned to me without an observation. Blanche was
then at Darmstadt. I went there, and to my amaze-
ment found her in downright poverty. So notorious ;

12 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

indeed, was her want of common comforts during
her confinement, that Duke E. — a great admirer of
Nolopoeus's talent — sent him five thousand francs.
Will you believe it? he lost every sous of it the
same evening, at rouge-et-noir, and Blanche stopped
my reproaches by asserting ' that he had done per-
fectly right, for emotion of all kinds fostered his
genius.' "

" Then there really was something superior in the
poor girl ; that power of losing her own identity in
that of another is heroic," returned Paul.

" No measuring the heights or depths of woman's
capabilities for good or evil," said Madame Saincere.
"The same woman who will be an angel for one
man, may prove a demon for another. All depends
on some mysterious sympathy of natures. However,
I am not going to philosophize, but to finish my
story. Nolopoeus died, and his poor little loving
wife has followed him within the year. She must
have met with some good souls who helped her, for
Nolopoeus died penniless. Regina, as far as I can
make out, earned something by acting fairies, in bal-
lets I suppose."

" Poor child ! And what is to come of her now ?"

" I took her yesterday to the Rue St. Dominique,
but both the Comte and Comtesse ignored her pres-
ence. Had it not been for an occasional twitch of
M. de Rochetaillee's mouth and for Madame's exces-
sive pallor, I should have believed them to be as
ignorant as they wished to appear of who the child
was ; but it is improbable that Blanche did not write

WHO IS SHE? 13

to them of her own approaching death and of hoi
intention to send her orphan to Paris. When I mus
tered courage to say, 'This is your grand-daughter,'
the Comte exclaimed, *in a loud harsh voice, 'Not a
word, not a word, niadame, as to that young- person.'
'But you cannot leave your daughter's child to
starve,' I said. lie answered, 'My notary shall
communicate with you, madame,' and then he turned
the conversation, hoped that my health was good,
that my family were all well, was glad to know that
it was my nephew who had gained the great prize of
Rome. I left them without much ceremony, as you
may believe."

" What a tempestuous family !" exclaimed Paul ;
"and little Miss looks as if she had inherited the
stormy temperament of her family."

" Ah ! poor little thing !"

" Ah ! poor aunt ; for the upshot of the matter is,
that she is left on your hands."

" I hope you are not going to lecture me as your
cousin Camille did this morning. To hear her, one
would suppose that this unlucky orphan was about
to deprive me of fortune and reputation."

" Not so bad as that," replied Paid. " Still I fear
you will find her often in the way. You have been
so free of encumbrances, so comfortably without
responsibility, I can't bear to think of your begin-
ning to have any worries; they will spoil all the
placidity that makes you the most lovely and the
most charming of women."

" Thank you, dear Paul ; it is pleasant at my age

14 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

to hear such compliments; hut do you suppose it is
a happiness to have no one to wake for, to think for,
to be uneasy or pleased about — to lead the life of a
stalled ox ?"

" I have not a word to say against your adopting
this gipsy, if it pleasures you. I spoke entirely in
your interest."

" Camille was very grand in her warnings, par-
ticularly as to the pecuniary part of the affair. None
of my friends need fear I shall be ruined or thwart
them of their share of my fortune. M. de Roche-
taillee's notary has already informed me that he has
orders to furnish me, or any one I may name, with
two hundred a year for Mademoiselle Nolopceus'
education and other expenses. So much for the
present. In the future, she must inherit her mother's
portion."

" My clear aunt, I was not thinking of money at
all, but of your freedom of action, of your entire
liberty to do as you like and go where you like."

" And, Paul, I answer, no one is at liberty to be
of no use to a fellow-creature."

" I am satisfied," he said. " Now let us have an-
other look at Mademoiselle Nolopceus."

This was what had been passing in the kitchen
during the colloquy in the salon:

" You can sit in that corner," and Hortense pointed
to a small wooden bench. " How old are you ?" she
continued, as she dipped the escallopes de veau in
the delicate white bread-crumbs.

Regina took the question into consideration for

WHO IS SHE? 15

some five minutes, then answered in a solemn voice,
" About ten, I believe, but don't ask me any more
questions, for I don't mean to answer them."

A beautiful young woman was that Hortense, fair,
healthy, gay, and giddy, a beauty in Reubens' best
style. She was a severe trial to Madame Saincere,
beintr a light that attracted crowds of moths, but,
entre nous, Madame Saincere was one of those peo-
ple who come into the world as it would seem ex-
pressly to help one pilgrim after another on their
road.

As Regina had declared she would not reply to
any interrogatories, Hortense, incapable of silence,
burst into song, singing after her own fashion half-a-
dozen operatic airs.

"You sing like a bird," observed Regina.

" As how ?" asked Hortense, flattered.

"Without speaking words," explained Regina;
then evidently fascinated by Hortense's beauty and
gayety, she added, " I can help you, I know how to
cook."

"You help me?" exclaimed Hortense, laughing
and showing all her wonderfully regular little teeth.

" You are very pretty," said Regina.

" So I am told," replied Hortense, feeling a friend-
ship for this naive and disinterested admirer.

"Pray, what do you know about cooking?"

" I know how to roast and fry, and I can make an
omelette."

Hortense stared at her. " Who are you ? I thought
you were the daughter of a friend of madarae's."

16 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

Regina smiled scornfully. " I am called Regina,
because I have royal blood in my veins ; my mother
was the daughter of French nobles, but my father
was Sebastian Xolopoeus, the greatest player on the
violin ever heard. Kings came and bowed to him. '
My father was a royal man."

Hortense continued to stare at the little solemn
speaker, "Pray, may I inquire whereabouts your
father's kingdom is ?"

" In the East — I never lie," and the girl sank into
obstinate silence.

CHAPTER II.

PASSING ON.'

It was decided that Regina should be sent to
school. The institution (schools are all institutions
in France) — the institution chosen was that under
the direction of Madame Flot, at Passy.

To what height of power might not Madame Flot
have attained had she been born a man instead of a
woman ! She was adroit, penetrating, self-confident,
indefatigably active, and something unscrupulous in
the means she used to attain her ends : good-tem-
pered, good-natured, and withal, possessed of a vig-
orous constitution. Her blood ran equably and
strongly through her veins. No feebleness about
Madame Flot ; and this plentitude of physical
strength gave her a general ascendancy. Rosy,
plump, smiling— she appeared a very incarnation of
prosperity ; and to appear prosperous is a great help
to becoming so. "Who, for instance, could have con-
fidence in the talent of the lean apothecary in Romeo
and Juliet ?

Whatever were Madame Flot's private troubles,
she carefully hid them. No one ever heard her com-
plain of her idle smoking husband. She never
sounded the alarum of her woes and deceptions.
She never presented her public with any but bright
pictures.

18 A rSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

Madame Saincere had no sooner asked a question
as to the terms of the institution than Madame Flot
was down upon her.

" You have a little girl — give her to me. I'll
make her everything you can desire. All my pupils
are happy and clever and good. Tenez, look at that
group in the garden. The eldest is to be married in
three weeks. -She left me only two months ago, and
is here to-day merely as a visitor. All my girls
make capital marriages. I have fifty English —
pretty fair creatures ; not more than a dozen Ger-
mans — excellent solid paste [bonne pate). Yes, yes.
Dear lady, trust me with your little girl. As to
terms : the first year, a thousand francs, including
our uniform, but not other clothes. She must have
a trousseau. See what large grounds we possess ;
and give a look at our chapel decorated with paint-
ings done by my pupils. Monsieur l'Abbe Labaume
takes such an interest in us. He comes right across
Paris to say our Mass. Excellent man ; perfectly to
be trusted with young tender hearts. Not severe—
not too earnest about confession. Between us, quite
a man of the world — of the best world," and so on
talked the smiling head of the institution for young
ladies at Passy.

At the sight of so many happy-looking healthy
young creatures frolicking in the garden, Madame
Saincere thought she could not do better than send
the tragical-looking orphan to join them.

She was then led through the interior of the house

PASSING ON. 19

Large dormitories, Avell aired in summer, well warmed
in winter; a dozen pianos going at once in half-a-
dozen successive rooms; some half a hundred easels
in a long gallery. Everything on a great scale — on
a scale in harmony with the mistress.

Madame Saincere took leave of Madame Flot say-
ing she would think the matter over; but Madame
Flot had no doubts as to the result of Madame
Saincere's reflections.

Madame Flot had dexterously gained a knowledge
of all the circumstances of Regina's story, and also
had penetrated Madame Saincere's perplexities, not
free of alarm at the charge that had been so unex-
pectedly thrown on her.

" The girl will be here within a week," soliloquized
the schoolmistress; "she shall have No. 15 bed.
The poor lady is dying to get rid of her in a credit-
able manner — a child interferes so with a woman's
liberty. I understand perfectly well we would like
to save ' the £joat and the cabbage.' "

Madame Flot judged Madame Saincere according
to Madame Flot's self. We have no other standard
measure than ourselves — personally as mentally. Is
it not affirmed on good authority that in every
painter's work — be it historical or portraiture — you
will always find a likeness to the painter's self?
Roundness, shortness of lines, and fairness; or length,
thinness, and darkness, as it happens to be with the
artist's own person.

Paul Latour's departure for Rome coincided with

20 A TSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

that of Regina's for school. Regina, dressed in the
uniform of Madame Flot's institution, came to wish
Madame Saincere and her nephew good-by.

" What a metamorphosis ! Xot so picturesque
though," exclaimed Paul, as he surveyed Regina.

" I come to thank you, madame, for all your kind-
ness to me," said the little girl, with apparent self-
possession.

" You will be good, I am sure. Strive also to
learn," said Madame Saincere. " If Madame Flot is
satisfied with you, your Christmas holidays shall be
spent with me."

Reo-ina still lino-ered.

" It is time for you to go, ma petite. Has Hor-
tense got the key of your trunk ? Come and em-
brace me."

Regina held up her face — the patient face of a
child who has never known anything but sorrow.

" Come and kiss me also, Regina," said Paul ; and
slipping a small gold piece into her hand, he whis-
pered, "Buy yourself a doll as a keep sake from me."

The girl made no answer ; but when she was in
the coach, Hortense perceived that she was crying.

"Don't be a coward," said Hortense. "They
won't eat you at school. You ought to be very glad
you are going to learn music and dancing. You are
born under a lucky star, mafoi."

" I am not a coward. That's not why I am crying.
You might beat me to death, and I would not cry."

" Cry, then, if it's a pleasure to you."

PASSING ON. 21

Paul Latour cle la Mothe was at this period a
young man of thrce-and-twenty, with manners pecu-
liarly agreeable to women of all ages and classes.
His had been the every-day story of early inclina-
tions thwarted, of obstacles thrown in the way of the
strong bias of the individual.

Paul was born a painter, and his father and mother
insisted on his becoming a Government employe.
Paul had loved, with the love that comes but once
in life, a girl who had grown up at his side ; but his
mother had as strong an antipathy for the object
of her son's affections as for painting, and indeed
for art in general.

Few Frenchmen resist the wishes or defy the pro-
hibitions of their parents in the matter of marriage ;
and Paul submitted to the sentence of condemnation
passed on his love. But having given up his incli-
nations on one po'int, he claimed compensation in
another, and Monsieur and Madame Latour de la
Mothe had to consent to his going to Paris, to enrol
himself among the pupils of Forgres.

Disappointment in one matter is often the step-
ping-stone to success in another — Paul regretting
Adeline had no stomach for Paris dissipation. He
gave himself entirely to the new mistress gained by
such a sacrifice; and as concentration of will is,
sooner or later, sure of victory, we find him, after
two years' study, the successful competitor for the
grand prize of Home for painting.

The evening before his departure for Italy, the
same on which Regina had gone to Passy, Paul

22 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

lounged late in the Champs Elysees, not in the prin-
cipal walk but in some of the side alleys undi
trees. The lights and sounds from the cafes- ...nan-
tants reached him softened, and made a pleasant
accompaniment to his reverie.

What boundless hopes, what vast aspirations dila-
ted his breast ! His Adeline si mignonne et si grou-
cieuse had no more consistency in his memory at that
moment than the shadow in a dream. No Eve of
mortal birth decked his fancy — busy with visions ol
superhuman beauty — such as may have floated be-
fore the rapt eyes of the young Raphael. Paul felt
no doubt as the great Alexander did when he set
out on his mighty military promenade ; Paul was
going also to conquer new worlds.

Paul's mother sat at home in the family house in
the quiet country town, where this only and beloved
son was born, and asked herself how it i she had
given birth to a genius? Why must she of all wo-
men be so unfortunate ? Not one of her neighbors
could make the same comjilaint — their sons left the
Lycee, went into banks, bureaux or ministflres, sure,
if long enough life was granted them, to become Re-
ceivers-General, or Directors, or Inspectors of some-
thing or other ; sure after threescore and ten of a
pension. Sons willing to marry the girl of their
mother's choice, and affording their parents the in-
effable joy of at least one grandchild.

And she, who only asked of Heaven an ordinary
mortal, who saw no use in a young man who would
inherit from twelve to fifteen thousand francs, hav-

PASSING ON. 23

'ngr any peculiar talent, she must consent to her son
-ling a sort of vagabond — to his going to Rome
— ha** over the world perhaps. And after all, where
was the certainty if he had any such wonderful tal-
ent. It might have been better to let him marry
that frivolous Adeline, with a purse as light as her
head.

Madame Latour de la Mothe sat at her window
watching the same sunset as Paul was contemplating
in Paris ; but hers were no pleasant visions— she
was as sorrowful as Sisera's mother waiting in vain
for her son's return. Though death had not placed
its icy barrier between them, she felt that they were
nevertheless forever separated. She and Paul would
never again live together as they had done; they
would meet occasionally, but he would never again
be Avholly hers, dwelling under the same roof, giving
and rec< ig the late and early kiss — never more —
never more. She had lost her son. Oh ! how she
anathematized Paris, and Rome, and art, and boyish
love !

When Paul entered his bedroom, he found Hor-
tense on her knees before his half-packed trunk.
"You spoil me, Hortense, because I am going away."
" When are you coming back, Monsieur Paul ?"
" Not for many years I hope and believe," he said,
sitting down so as to get a good view of the beau-
tiful girl. Hortense seemed to bloom into greater
loveliness under his long gaze.

24 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

"I have finished packing your other trunk, Mon-
sieur Paul. Who are you going to stay with, who
is to take care of you, send your things to the wash,
and sew on your buttons ?"

" That reminds me," he said. " Get a needle and
thread, like a good girl, and show me how to fasten
on a button."

Hortense burst into one of her wildest laughs,
every one of her little teeth in sight.

"Many a fine lady would give half her fortune to
have your teeth," said Paul. " But I am in earnest
about the buttons — get a needle and thread."

She fetched her work-box, and as-ain kneeling

1 O CD

down, this time close to his knee, she began the les-
son. In spite of being only a bonne, Hortense had
small taper fingers, and Paul remarked this and
also a certain agitation and short breathing about
her.

" You will never be able to do it, Monsieur Paul,"
she said, pettishly, snatching the needle out of his
hand. " This house will be like a tomb when you
are gone."

" Xot as long as such a blithe bird as you remain
in it," replied Paul.

" But I am not going to stay in it, Monsieur Paul.
I don't mean to go on all my life cooking and slav-
ing. I can better myself, and — I shall."

"I am sure I don't object," said Paul, laughing at
the girl's tragedy tone.

She rose from her knees at his side, and stood
facing him with angry eyes. " You don't object !"

PASSING ON. 25

she repeated mockingly ; " yon mean yon don't care
what becomes of mo !"

"I don't know yon in this mood. Yon shouldn't
be cross to me the last evening you may ever see
me."

" Oh ! Monsieur Paul, Monsieur Paul, I am not
cross ; it is not that !" Hortense paused, grew first
very red, then turned pale as ashes. She added, in
quick, short accents, " I can go on the stage, if I
please ; I have an offer from the manager of the
'Gaiete.'"

"Why, where did he ever see you?" asked Paul,
surprised.

" Never mind. Shall I accept the engagement ?"

" Better remain with my good aunt."

" Not after you are gone," and her eyes met his
entreatingly.

It was Paul's turn to change color. He said,
hesitatingly, "I wish you every good, and I hope
whatever change you make may be for your happi-
ness."

" I wonder if gentlemen ever have any heart for
poor girls like me !" ejaculated Hortense. " Good-
by, Monsieur Paul, good-by."

" Shake hands, Hortense."

She thrust back his offered hand violently, and ran
out of the room.

Paul waited some time, expecting, perhaps wish-
ing, her to come back ; but his good angel prevailed.

And so next morning he set off alone for Rome.

Mademoiselle Adeline Mayer, whom he had loved,

20 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

and who had owned she loved him passing well, mar-
ried shortly after, by desire of her parents. 3i. Victor
Aubry, a proprietor of fruitful vineyards in Cham*
pagne, and Hortense Secorbean left Madame Saiu-
cere's service to enter that of the " Great Serpent,"

CHAPTER III.

FRENCH PRECAUTION.

The next six years was a term of trace in the
destiny of our dramatis personal.

Regina went through the usual vicissitudes of a
school-girl's life, even to having the typhus fever,
Paul remained obstinately in Rome.

Possibly he might have returned sooner, but for
the continual harping of his mother on one string,
that of his marriage. Madame Latour de la Mothe
continued to cherish the hope that her son would
renounce painting, and settle down a married man
in his native place, and during these six years found
at least three models of perfection, any one of whom
she would have welcomed as a daughter-in-law.

"We constantly see the most formidable obstacles
removed by a persevering pressure, and the strongest
determinations fall before the tenacious efforts of
feebleness. Thus, one fine day, Paul, wearied out,
set off for Juvigny, his native town, to be intro-
duced to one of his mother's unexceptionable " rose-
buds." Sphinxes clothed in white muslin, Paul called
young girls with suitable dots. ■

Before Paul arrived in Paris, Madame Saincere
knew that the matrimonial negotiation had failed —
failed, according to Madame Latour de la Mothe's

28 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

version, through the abominable coquetry of " that
Adeline Aubry."

Madame Saincere was enjoined by her sister to
talk reason with Paul on this subject.

Thus one evening she said, " I don't think I have
heard you laugh once since you arrived."

" Is that a matter of regret ?" he asked.

" Yes, I think so. A laugh is like a ray of sun-
shine. I am of Ninon's opinion : ' Que la joie de
V esprit est la mesure de sa force.'' "

" The gayety of a mind need not express itself by
laughter. At nearly nine-and-twenty a man has had
some experience. He is partially disabused as to
the charms of existence, and as life begins to appear
to him a misty problem, he is less disposed to laugh."

Madame Saincere took up the conversation by a
change of subject. " And so you found everything
at Juvigny much as when you left."

Paul lifted the lids of his eyes and looked fixedly
at his aunt. " On the contrary, I found very little
the same. The lower town is no longer lighted by
dripping oil-lamps, swung across the streets. It has
gas, and there are tolerable pavements where thei - e
were formerly none. There are fewer dirt-heaps
before the old houses in the Cote de la Tour. My
mother's hair is nearly white. Those I left boys and
girls are men and women — the fathers and mothers
of other girls and boys."

" One would imagine you had been absent twenty
years instead of six. The air of Juvigny is not good
for you, Paul. When your mother wishes to see you

FRENCH PRECAUTION. 29

let her come here. Hard work is what you require.
Remember if a man has not done something worth
doing by the time he is five-and-thirty he may be
considered a failure. It is not easy to build up a
reputation, therefore as few holidays as possible."

" Why tight about the bush ?" he said, growing
pale, his features contracting as in a crisis of bodily
pain. " I see that my mother has written you all
her fears and conjectures."

" She has told me all that is commonly said of you
and Madame Aubry.

" Inventions," he replied.

" All inventions are based on some truth, friend
Paul. You are on a slippery path ; have you ever
considered whither it leads? Oh, heavens! that
men and women will be such fools ! And for what ?
the most evanescent thing in the world. ~No love
lasts, Paul."

He looked angrily at her. " Mine has lasted eight
years."

She smiled. " And yet you remained absent six
years, of your own free will. If you spoke truly you
would say that your boy's feelings have been revived
by meeting Madame Aubry again, and very likely
6he has done her best to revive them."

" Women are always cruel in their judgments of
women," he returned.

" Perhaps — at any rate men always say so — when
we interfere with their game. I wonder how you
would judge the case were it your -own instead of
M. Aubry's ?"

30 A rSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

"Hang him: he cares for nothing but his fishing
and his vines. He sees nothing, hears nothing : he
is a mere lump of matter; unable to comprehend
her. Her mother is absorbed by whist and her con-
fessor — all the women are jealous of Her. And you
want to rob her of her only friend !"

" What you feel is not friendship) !"

"I beg your pardon. I am the best judge of my
own feelings ; and I know that it is a strong affec-
tion, and not a passion I have for Adeline."

" So much the better, my dear ; at the same time
take an old woman's counsel — remain in Paris, and
give up Juvigny."

Here the conversation ended for the present ; Mad-
ame Saincere putting her trust for Paul's cure rather
in the fascinations and pleasures of Paris, than in the
efficacy of her counsels.

In the course of the following month Paul was
established in a suitable atelier and apartment in
the Rue Blene, not five minutes' walk from his
aunt's house. What with the gentle blasts from
Fame's trumpet which had preceded his arrival —
what Avith the intimacies he had formed in Italy,
and his birth and easy fortune, he was received into
the worlds of art and fashion with equal cordiality.
He had not to make his way — way was made for
him. Every Sunday, however, Paul passed in the
Hue Blanche. It was on these Sundays that he and
Regina met, it being one of the customs of Madame
Plot's institution that her young ladies should go
and spend every alternate Sunday with their- parents

FRENCH PRECAUTION. 3L

or friends. Paul soon observed that Regina was as
little changed in manner as in appearance. She was
still given to haunting the corners of rooms — still
shy and without expansiveness. He remarked also
that she wus far from being a favorite among his
aunt's relations; and it was equally clear to him
that she never sought to propitiate any one. He
asked himself if this absence of all desire to please
was a virtue, or the want of one.

Madame Saincere explained this sort of apathy
by placing it to the account of the typhus fever,
from which Regina had only lately recovered. The
sight of Regina brought back Hortense to Paul's
recollection.

" She is a demi-monde celebrity," said Madame
Saincere, in answer to his inquiries. " I have once
or twice caught a glimpse of her in a carriage and
four going to the races. She never fails to send
me a magnificent bouquet every New Year's Day,
with her humble respects ; and I more than suspect
that all Regina's handsome Hrennes. sent anony-
mously, proceed from the same source."

Though Paul dined alone with Madame Saincere
on Sundays, Regina counting for nothing, there was
always an addition in the evening of some half-dozen
intimates, of many years' standing, or the sons and
daughters of those intimates. There was first, Dr.

M , an oracle with Madame Saincere — a well of

science, a systematist defending his opinions with
obstinacy, yet never with passion. There was Old
General Fey, with the rude voice and soft heart;.

32 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

believing, and loudly asserting that all the prosper-
ity of France vanished with Louis Philippe's green
umbrella. The two brother sculptors, Emile and
Gustave Roule, young, joyous, full of promise as
spring; Jean Bertrand, the well-known author —
every page of whose writings betrays the tender
sentiment and benevolence of the writer ; and who,
in conversation, is an exasperating pessimist, con-
tinually citing Leopardi's dictum, that " the world
is a league of villains against the good — of the vile
against the noble." But the person who most im-
pressed Regina was Madame Daville. To the school-
girl it seemed natural that men should argue and
declaim ; but that a woman, and such a little wo-
man, should dispute, and harangue, criticise, and
condemn Government and senators, hold her own,
nay, silence even Monsieur Bertrand, was a miracle
to Madame Flot's pupil. What sort of a man must
Monsieur Daville be, to dare to be Madame Daville's
husband ? An ogre seven feet high at least, thought
Regina.

For the last two years she had been present twice
a month at these meetings, learning very different
things from what wei - e taught at Passy. Sometimes,
when her friends were gone, Madame Saincere would
remember Regina's existence, and say —

" My dear, you should have been in bed long ago.
Are you not sleepy, child ?"

" Xo, madame ; I like to listen."

For an instant it would cross Madame Saincere's
mind that all the subjects discussed might not be

FRENCH PRECAUTION. 33

the fittest for a young girl to hear; but the thought
was forgotten before the end of the fortnight brought
Regina back to her corner. She sat there, quiet as
a carved image, for many and many a Sunday after
Paul formed one of the group.

Neither aunt nor nephew remarked that the mar-
ble was losing its rigidity and its coldness, that the
eyes were less disposed to immobility. The statue
was imbibing life ; but none in that salon perceived
the progress of transformation. Yet as the girl
passed along the streets, many of those who met her
turned to look again in admiration of her beauty.
Her schoolfellows also began to be civil to her ;
beauty wields a sceptre even in institutions such as
that of Passy. But Madame Saincere and Paul only
saw the Regina of other days. Paul had said of
her, " a reserved child is as disappointing as a vio-
let without perfume," and had ceased to notice her.
His nature craved for expansiveness as much as did
that of Regina's.

It was all at once that Madame Saincere awoke to
the fact that her protegee was a grown-up hand-
some girL Her enlightenment came from seeing
the eyes of the brothers Roule constantly straying
to a particular angle of her salon. " Ah, ha !" thought
Madame Saincere, " here is a new trouble. Good
heavens ! how time passes ! I must put some order
in this affair. Poor Emile has neither money nor
position; it will not do."

Regina was left at Passy for some weeks. The
poor girl paled and pined, and Madame Flot, who

34 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

hated ill health, wrote to Madame Saincere that
Mademoiselle Nolopoeus was indisposed, and that
the physician of the institution prescribed change
of air.

" How in the world am I to marry that girl ?"
exclaimed Madame Saincere. " The only man I see
who has any fortune is Jean Bertrand, and he is too
old."

" Tell her school-mistress to look out for a suitable
husband for her. The Confessor will be able to
help." This was Paul's advice, and yet he had had
some experience that girls are not mere bodies with-
out wills or hearts.

Madame Saincere was a Frenchwoman, and, there-
fore, not at all shocked by Paul's advice. A hus-
band had been found for herself and for Paul's
mother by a mutual friend. In short, it is the cus-
tom in France for parents and friends to arrange
marriages, and some people contend that such a
system is preferable to that of letting young people
choose for themselves. Madame Saincere did not
precisely empower Madame Flot to find a husband
for Regina, but the two ladies talked the matter
over, and shortly after Madame Flot proposed the
" adjoint" of the Mayor of Quimper Carention. " No,
no; a thousand times no," returned the Parisian
lady. " A girl brought up in Paris could never live in
Quimper Carention — as well send her to Cayenne."

A brief correspondence on the necessity of taking
into consideration Mademoiselle Kolopoeus's mar-
riage ensued between Madame Saincere and the

FRENCH PRECAUTION. 35

Comte and Comtesse <le Rochetaillee. Always the
same refusal to interfere actively in behalf of their
granddaughter; always the same assurance that
whatever Madame Saincere thought fitting would
meet with their approbation.

Regina had, as a matter of course, been often men-
tioned in the letters between Madame Saincere and
Madame Latour de la Mothe, and, truth to say,
Paul's mother had begun to have misgivings as to
the advisability of the propinquity of her son and
her sister's protegee. Though Madame Latour was
in despair about Paul's unfortunate attachment,
though, as she herself expressed it, she longed after
a grandchild as she did after Paradise, she could not
put up with anything short of immaculate genealogy
on her dautditer-indaw's side. Now the child of a
runaway match between a noble and a gipsy did not
at all meet Madame Latour's views. " Violent pas-
sions are hereditary," thought she, " aud nothing so
hurtful in marriage as passion." When, therefore,
Madame Saincere consulted her as to a husband for
Regina, Madame Latour de la Mothe at once took
the field, and presently wrote thus :

" I have an eligible person in my eye — one who
was at the Lycee with Paul — he is a redacteur in the
Administration des Ilypotheques here ; there is also
a young officer, at this moment in Algiers, the
nephew of Mademoiselle Pagores. She thinks he
would be glad to marry if he found a suitable dowry.
But I should rather advise Charles Gerard: Paul
can tell you what he was as a boy. If you entertain

36 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

an idea that he would answer, send Mademoiselle
Nolopceus to me that they may see one another —
Gerard cannot get leave at present to go to Paris."

Madame Saincere asked Paid about the redacteur.

" He is a good sort of fellow enough," he answered ;
*'not overburdened with talent. I think he would
be kind to his wife. I have a faint idea that he is
fond of his gun."

Regina was sent for from Passy. When told that
Madame Latour had invited her to Juvigny for
change of air, the joy in her beautiful eyes, as she
turned them gratefully on Paul, smote on his heart.
He felt as though he was taking a share in a crime —
as if the lamb thanked the butcher. Under this new
impression he said to Madame Saincere, " Why be
in such a hurry to marry her ? — she has plenty of
time before her. Do you know she is growing
handsome ?"

" You forget that I am growing old. She is friend-
less. What if I were to die ?"

And so Regina had some new dresses, and was
to be sent off by rail under the care of Madame La-
tour's milliner, carrying back to Juvigny the Paris
summer fashions.

As Regina was waiting on the platform while her
chaperone got the tickets, she was startled by seeing
Paul enter the station. He had in his hand a small
bouquet of roses de Bengale and a lady's travelling
bag. He gave bouquet and bag to Regina, saying,
" Now you look properly set up for your journey.
Embrace my mother for me, and remember to sea

FRENCH PRECAUTION. 37

the woods — my beautiful woods — they must be in
full beauty — full of periwinkles and anemones. I
wish I were going also."

Regina had grown crimson with surprise and
pleasure, but not a word could she articulate. He
shook hands with her as he saw the modiste ap-
proaching. Then he spoke familiarly with that im-
portant citizeness of his native place, as French gen-
tlemen do, showing no recollection that he was a
Latour de la Mothe, and she a Madame Pouchot.

The first observation that the milliner made to
her charge when they were fairly seated in the rail-
way carriage was, " To think of such a fine young
man, and of such a good family, demeaning himself
to be a painter !"

CHAPTER IV.

AN OLD TOWN.

Approaching Juvigny by the road from Paris, your
eye is at once attracted by a steep hill receding
from the opposite side of a -slowly flowing river, and
crowned by an old town, making a mediaeval show of
pointed gables, high roofs, ancient towers, and
battlemented walls, which wind about this former
feudal stronghold, as if still ready for sturdy service,
though, in fact, centuries have elapsed since they
have been mouldering in peaceful disuse.

This is the Haute Ville, bached by clumps of sec-
ular trees, beyond which wide woods spread. At
the foot of the hill, in a valley by the side of the
river, is the modern commercial Basse Ville. It is
here that prosperity has taken up its abode, where
the dwellings of official dignitaries and wealthy
burghers are to be found. The Basse Ville is the
centre of trade ; the stir of life is concentrated there.
Our business lies in the Upper Town. Crossing a
suburb, you begin to ascend by a twisting narrow
street, and soon find yourself in a road that follows
the turns and bends of one of the walls already men-
tioned, which brings you to the Haute Ville. In days
of yore the trampling of men-at-arms sounded in the
now silent streets, and the pageantry of a ducal m

AN OLD TOWN. 39

court animated these grim gray houses, that stare at

you as if tbey wondered what you meant by being
alive.

First you come to an old tower with a white-faced
clock, which tolls the hoars for the work-people,
calling them to toil and giving the signal that their
hour for rest is come ; further on is a mysterious, re-
pulsive-looking building, so blackened by age that
no sunshine can lighten its monotonous hue. This
was the castle of the independent dukes of the prov-
ince, and is now a guard-house. By this time you have
reached the top of the ascent. To your right opens
a wide street of handsome stone houses, their peaked
roofs pierced by dormers. Many of them have the
cornices of the window sculptured, together with
carved borders running between each range of win-
dows; while others, of still older date, have over-
hanging beetling; eaves and latticed windows, with
little octagon panes that but half admit the light of
day. You may look up the street and down the
street, many and many a day, and see no living
creature stirring, till at last you begin to feel that
your personal presence is an indiscretion. By the
time you have come to the venerable church, a spell
not unpleasant has seized upon you. Your pulses
beat slowly and calmly. Life's fitful fever subsides,
and you recall Leopardi's weird chorus of the dead :

Vivemmo . . . che fummo ?
Che lu quel pimto acerbo
Che di vita ebbe uome ?

40 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

But, stranger, there is yet life in the still town. Be-
hind those white window-blinds may be young and
pretty eyes intently fixed on you, and curiosity
wildly speculating upon the unknown. \Yhence
comes he ? Wherefore comes he ? Which door is
about to open for him ?

And when you do pass the threshold of one of
those antiquated mansions, the chances are you will
find yourself among a group formed of three genera-
tions — assuredly you will meet with a kindly welcome.

" I see Madame Latour de la Mothe herself at the
door, waiting for you, 1 ' said the milliner to Regina,
as the omnibus entered the Grand Rue. Regina
looked out eagerly to catch a sight of Paul's
mother.

Madame Latour was like and unlike her sister,
Madame Saincere. The features of both were cast
in the same mould, but how different the expression !
That of the Paris lady was lively and mobile ; the
provincial dame's face was almost rigid. Every
movement of the first was lithe and active, while the
other had a stiff, upright carriage : the one was frank
and cheerful, the other grave and ceremonious.
There was no end to the formalities of the welcome
given by Madame Latour to her young visitor, inter-
spersed, to be sure, by little erratic discussions with
the complaisant milliner as to the new shapes of
bonnets.

AN OLD TOWN. 41

One of the great differences between a Parisian
and a provincial woman is, that the former purchases
little at a time, and nothing in advance, whereas the
latter lays in a store, and is addicted to buying bar-
gains ; and, as a rule, is never exactly in the reign-
ing fashion. Her best clothes remain too Ions; in the
wardrobe.

When Madame Latour saw Regina without her
bonnet, she said to herself, " it was strange neither
her sister nor her son had ever mentioned the girl's
rare beauty." But neither Madame Saincere nor
Paul had ever seen Regina looking as she now did
in Madame Latour's salon.

The bouquet of roses, the pretty toy of a travelling
bag, Paul's unexpected appearance at the station,
and his kindly parting words, had produced such a
tumult of new-born happiness, as had made all Re-
gina's young blood dance merrily in her veins. She
was in that state of feeling which transfigures an
exterior ; and which, at rare moments, shows us what
a human being really is. Madame Latour was seeing
Regina in one of these phases. The girl's eyes
seemed to love all they rested upon, from her hostess
down to the most trivial object in the room.

Paul's paternal house was dull and sombre enough.
Not one of the thousand trifles which appear neces-
sary to existence in Paris was to be seen. A dozen
large armchairs, and a sofa to match, covered with
dark velvet, a gueridon or oval table, a small up-
right piano, a square rug before the sofa, another
before the fireplace, a jardiniere in each window, a

42 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

marble-topped work-table, was all the furniture.
Not a book was lying about. At Madame Saincere'3
every available place was crowded with pamphlets
and newspapers; book-cases lined the walls; — Aere,
not a semblance of dust, the floors shining like mir-
rors, the curtains as white as snow, not quite free
from the detestable odor of eau de javelle ; while in
the Rue Blanche it must be owned there was room
for improvement as to dust and whiteness. Madame
Saincere's walls were hidden by pictures, engravings,
photographs. The only ornament on those of Ma-
dame Latour de la Mothe was a poor likeness 01
Paul, hung above the piano ; which, of course, stood
against a wall in the worst place for an instrument,
between a door and a window. Even the " Garniture
de Cheminee" was sombre, and yet the room seemed
a most pleasant place to Regina.

After she had had some refreshment, Madame La-
tour took her over the house. It was large enough
to accommodate twenty people. It had long broad
stone corridors, a great stone staircase with a finely
carved balustrade, doors in curious angles, steps here
and steps there, a succession of rooms and ante-
rooms, narrow passages running in and out and
behind the rooms, the whole forming a tolerable
labyrinth for the uninitiated.

"This is my son's private room," said Madame
Latour, just unclosing the door of a room on the
ground-floor, with windows looking into a well-sized
garden. No lack of books or pictures in Paul's
sanctum, but Madame Latour did not invite Regina

AN OLD TOWN. 43

to go in and inspect either. She was jealous of her
right of entry.

The guest-chamber allotted to Regina was exactly-
over Paul's study. Left there to herself, the girl sat
down at the open window, taking in great breaths ot
the pure mountain air. The Maison Latour stood
on the highest point of the steep height on which
the Haute Ville was built, and had a view, from the
back windows, over the new town and of the hills
and valleys on the other side of the river. Regina's
enjoyment at this moment was purely physical. The
child of the great city had as yet no taste for land-
scape, but she felt that cheerfulness of spirit which
the atmosphere of high regions imparts. There was
a small jet d'eau just below her window, sending up
its slender crystal column almost to a level with her
face. She leaned downward to get sprinkled by its
spray, saying aloud, " It is charming, charming ; I
could stay here forever."

Then, with the inconstancy of her age, she turned
from what had so fascinated her to examine the room
she was in. On the mantelpiece, instead of a clock,
was a glass globe covering a wreath of orange-
flowers, reposing on a red velvet cushion. Perhaps
not many ladies, so well-born as Madame Latour de
la Mothe, would thus exhibit their wedding garland;
but with those less elevated in position a supersti-
tious care is taken of this piece of bridal finery.

Regina contemplated the faded flowers with a sort
of respect, and possibly wondered if it were her des-
tiny ever to place such on her head. But in truth,

44 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

Regina was just arrived at that particular era of a
young girl's life when there is au utter scorn for all
commonplace reality, matrimony included. On the
occasion of a companion's marriage, who has not
overheard the bridernaids wondering how " dear
Julia could take such a man !" Could any of those
young creatures draw with their pencil the ideal
created by their imagination, what a curious individ-
ual they would portray as the one they could take !
Three parts angelic, and one diabolic.

Leaving the wreath, Regina took to peeping into
the closets, with which all the four walls of the room
were honeycombed. Accustomed to the want oi
space, which forms the great discomfort of Paris
apartments, it was with quite a luxurious sensation
that she laid out her new dresses at full length, and
scattered the contents of her trunks all through the
numerous receptacles placed at her service.

When she returned to the salon, Madame Latour
looked at her with an uneasy sort of pleasure. What
vigorous coloring of the South ! what eyes ! soft and
bright, full of the shy wildness of a young girl — a
figure, too, that denoted a rich and powerful organi-
zation ; the head firmly placed on a throat that had
the fulness in the centre of Eastern women ; adorably
shaped hands and feet ! Strange, very strange
that Paul should have been so silent as to such
beauty !

" Did you see much of my son in Paris ?" asked
Madame Latour.

" Every other Sunday. I go once a fortnight to

AN OLD TOWN. 45

Madame Saincere, and Monsieur Paul always dines
in the Rue Blanche on Sundays."

" Ah ! he is well ?"

" Yes, madame."

" You don't think him looking fagged ? lie writes
me that he works hard, and the smell of oil-paints is
ahominable for the health ; and, besides, he goes a
good deal into the world, and the distances in Paris
are so great !"

"Monsieur Paul always seems very well."

" How do you amuse yourself on these Sundays ?"

" A great many people come to see Madame Sain-
cere, and they talk a great deal about everything. I
listen, for it is very amusing."

Madame Latour changed the conversation. She
had an unwillingness to continue talking of Paul,
and yet there was no other subject that interested
her. This reserve, however, was not to last long.
She very soon yielded to the pleasure of having a
listener, who seemed to be as much interested to
be talked to about Paul, as she was to talk of him.
Before Regina leaves Juvigny she will have been
made acquainted with eveiy incident (save one) of
Paul's youth. She will know how he had suffered
when cutting his teeth ; the doubts and dangers
of scarlet fever and measles; his strange child's
sayings — those sayings which sound to mothers so
like reminiscences of some former existence — of his
successes and failures at the Lycee. Regina Mill
have been told all these things, and have become
the confidante of Madame Latour's regret, that he

4G A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

should have quitted the smooth, beaten track of
bureaucracy, for the vagabondage of an artist's life.

All that first afternoon Madame Latour and Regi-
na passed in a tete-d-tete, attracted the one to the
other by the secret sympathy of a common affection.
Madame Saincere would scarcely have believed her
senses had she seen Regina's winning ways with
Madame Latour, or recognized those tender inflec-
tions of voice as belonging to her protegee. Ma-
dame Saincere would have wondered also that Reed-
na could talk so agreeably, and give such point to
her little anecdotes. What perhaps would lave
struck Paul's aunt more forcibly than it did Paul's
mother, was the way in which Paul's name always
got mixed up with what the young girl had to say.

Maternal love and vanity blinded and deafened
Madame Latour to this circumstance. Probably
not quite however, for, in the silence of the night,
Madame Latour thought how best to hatch that
matrimonial plot which had been the reason for
Regina's visit to Juvigny. Even while unable to
deny that there would be a comical, or perhaps a
tragical disparity between Charles Gerard and such
a wife, she wished for the marriage. What she
wanted for Paul in matrimony was the same medi-
ocrity she had desired in his career. Regina's beauty
alarmed her — it was not an every-day prettiness.
Regina's birth was, however, what made the girl so
distasteful to her as a possible daughter-in-law. She
had the look of a queen, or an actress — of anything
but of a steady managing housewife. Madame La-

AN OLD TOWN. 47

tour quieted her conscience by saying to it that
Regina would need a contrast in her husband as
much as Paul did in a wife. Two highflyers could
never draw the matrimonial coach safely along the
road of life.

" Mon Dieu, doesn't one see such contrasts every
day ?— and the household goes on very well. Passion
was far better absent from marriage — at least before-
hand : if love came afterward, so much the better ;
if not, children made up for all that. Her own mar-
riage had been loveless, and she had done very well."

CHAPTER V.

A SOIREE IN THE OLD TOWN.

The reason of Regina's visit to Madame Latour
de la Mothe was Harlequin's secret, at least in the
Ville Haute. How could it be otherwise in a place
where such a benevolent spirit of inquiry prevailed
that there was no smuggling into it so much as a
new bonnet from Paris, unknown to your neighbors ?

Regina was the only one in the dark as to why
the De Lussons gave a soiree, and why she was go-
ing to it. She awoke without any presentiments,
and once certain she was not at the Pass}' Institu-
tion, she ran to the window, threw it open, and kissed
her hand to the jet <Peau, sparkling in the morning
sun.

There is a small Faubourg St. Germain in the
Haute Ville of Juvigny — some half-dozen Legiti-
mist families congregated there after 1830. The
days of July completed the ruin of their families,
begun by the emigration of '92. From a spirit of
loyalty they have abstained from all official employ-
ments, and out of respect to their blood they have
refrained from commerce. Luckily their families are
small. M. de Noircourt's only child, a son, is in the
Pope's Nobile Guardia. Young M. de Bris is an
officer in the Austrian army; M. de la Tourveille

A SOIRKE IN THE OLD TOWN. 49

has only a daughter. Jules de Lusson alone had
deserted bis cause. Adopting for device that idle-
ness is a crime in a poor man, he had entered a great
commercial house in Paris. The consternation in
the clique when that event occurred, is not to be
described. Madame de Lusson lived more than
ever on her knees in the church, and M. de Lusson
shut himself up with his flute, which, during that
period, was to be heard wailing through all hours
of the night. This falling away of a true scion of
nobility, was generally imputed by the De Lussons'
friends to Jules' companionship with Paul Latour, —
a companionship begun in childhood, and fostered
by their being next-door neighbors.

The intimacy of children, sooner or later, brings
about acquaintance between the parents. Paul, ad-
mitted to play with young De Noircourt, De la Tour-
veille, and the De Lussons, led to Madame Latour
de la Mothe, in the course of years, being accepted
by the noble clique. An occult sympathy drew her
and Madame de Lusson together; they both had
suffered disappointment in their only sons, and per-
haps there was another bond of union. A faint ru-
mor had once prevailed that Isabelle de Lusson had
— not loved — no well-brought-up French young lady
ever does that without her parents 1 permission- — well,
not loved, but shown a preference for a bourgeois.
Isabelle would have been the daughter-in-law after
Madame Latour's heart ; so much so that Madame
Latour would have been ready to make the sacrifice
of a dot. That hope, however, vanished like many

50 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

others ; but the friendship between the families com
tinned unbroken, and it was to Madame de Lusson
that Madame Latour applied to help her in her mat-
rimonial project for Begina.

It is not a trifle for people living the secluded life
of the De Lussons, to have company. Such an event
had not occurred since Jules' departure. On the
day of the eventful evening, the whole family were
on foot at early dawn : the thing should be done
handsomely, as they had to invite Charles Gerard
and his family, as well as to ask some of the other
bourgeois who were in the habit of leaving a card on
them every New Year's Day.

You should have seen on this occasion old Le-
peaute, the De Lusson factotum, gardener, cook,
valet, housemaid.

" I shall serve tea at nine, madame, as we used to
do when we were in Sweden."

During the last two years of the Restoration, M.
de Lusson had been minister to the court of Stock-
holm.

" Ah ! if we had only some of the same tea, Mad-
ame la Comtesse, but in this cursed little hole there
is nothing — nothing good," sighed the old man.
" Does madame intend to have ice ?"

"Why, Lepeaute, what are you dreaming of?
Where could you get any?"

" A little from one pastry-cook, and a little from
another." Lepeaute did not dare to own that he
meant to get some from the hospital under the
plea that monsieur was ill. One thing he waa

A SOIREE IN THE OLD TOWN. 51

resolved on, that, as the bourgeois were to be ad-
mitted, they should see that the nobles were as
well 'monies as any of their bankers and spinners.
" I can borrow the sabotiere from the prefecture,
and no one the wiser," he concluded.

"Do as you like, but don't bring us into any
great expense."

Lepeaute collected all the baronial spoons be-
longing to the noble clique, and counted heads
with Mademoiselle Isabelle, that there should be a
sufficiency of cups and glasses.

At eight o'clock the De Lussons' door-bell was
rung ; all the invited came within half-an-hour
of each other. Every one of the guests had a friend-
ly word for Lepeaute ; and he in return inquired
after their health, sometimes in a condescending
tone — but that was for the lower town. He looked
as though made up for a part in a play : all his wiry
hay-colored hair brushed straight up ; his face the
color of burned bricks, from his recent exertions in
making the ice ; his stiff, standing-up collars cutting
his poor, big, red ears ; a black coat with the but-
tons between the shoulders ; a frilled shirt ; and a
shrunk white waistcoat.

He complimented all the ladies whom he con-
sidered " ladies." Removing Mademoiselle de la
Tourveille's cloak, he gave a clack of his tongue ex-
pressive of admiration, whispering, "The Parisian
demoiselle can't show a complexion like mademoi-
selle's."

There was a strong resemblance among the Legit-

52 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

imists ; you would have supposed they were all of
one family. The women had narrow, oval faces, large
eyes, small mouths en coeur, and aquiline noses. The
men had the retiring forehead, the prominent eyes — ■
in short, the marked obstinate type of the Bourbons.

The comtesses were shabby enough : their dresses
had gone through many a vicissitude ; but they,
as well as their husbands, had that indescribable air
which popular opinion ascribes to a superior rank.
The young ladies De Lusson and De la Tourveille,
in white muslin, would have been considered elegant
anywhere. Associating only among themselves,
they had caught the court air of their mothers.
The had all of them also a certain air of languor, of
melancholy, far from wanting in charm. They gave
you the idea of exiles. The hopeless monotony of
their lives had eaten away the bloom from their
hearts as from their faces. They had learned one
sorrowful note. To every proposition the answer
was, " "What's the use ?" Why take a walk into the
country to hear the birds' spring song ; to see the
first bursting into leaf of tree and bush ? " What's
the use ?"

M. de Lusson would try to induce his second
daughter to practise the singing learned at the con-
vent. " What's the use ?" and so on.

There was only one thing necessary. They must
stitch, and stitch, and stitch, or go without clothes.

Isabelle and Lucie, more than pretty at eighteen,
at eight-and-twenty had already skins of the hue of
old parchment. They were beginning, too, to be

A SOIREE IN THE OLD TOWN. 53

vigilant over their neighbors' doings, seeing evil
even in innocent gayety.

As for their father, he had the most provokingly
prosperous air imaginable : his face was like a rising
sun ; his great, blue eyes beamed with contentment
behind the crystal of his spectacles ; his mouth, now,
alas ! sans teeth, was ever open, as though he were
about to break into song. His walk was cadenced
as to some inward measure. Shut M. de Lusson up
with his flute — no happier man in creation. He was
an example of the advantages of a hobby. It must
be owned, however, that it is trying to three pining,
disappointed women to live with a man always the
personification of satisfaction ; and it was no wonder
the daughters occasionally gave vent to their indig-
nation.

" So long as papa has that horrid flute, he does not
care a straw for our beintj buried alive as we are.
Indeed, he would not miss us if we were actually
under the ground."

On which the poor old gentleman would meekly
reply—

" Your are right, my dears ; I am a great egotist.
I do forget everything once I have my flute in my
fingers. I have a mind to burn it and all my music.
Lucie, my dear, if you would practise you would be
a beautiful singer."

" I don't care to be a beautiful singer. What's
the use ?"

This kindly musical fanatic was a contrast to M.
de la Tourveille, who passed his days in smoking

54 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

halfpenny cigars, perambulating the town, and
blundering as to what he had seen or heard.

M. de Bris was occupied from morning till night
painting the coats-of-arms of all his ancestors.
Alicie, his daughter, hoped only one thing, wished
only for one thing — to escape from the Haute Ville
of Ju vigil y.

Monsieur and Madame de Noircourt found their
occupation in religious observances. No one could
dress a reposoir or make such moss garlands as Ma-
dame de Noircourt. The bishop had once mention-
ed in his sermon, preached in the Haute Ville, the
satisfaction he derived from these garlands — proofs
of the piety for which Juvigny had always been re-
nowned.

Madame de Noircourt was the most popular of
the noble clique. She was a regular attendant on all
funerals. Not a De Profundis was chanted in St.
Joseph's in which her voice did not join. She kept
a black alpaca dress, against which sun and rain had
in vain combined, for these occasions.

After the nobles came the bourgeois. First ap-
peared Charles Gerard and his mother. Madame
Gerard was a nice fresh-looking woman, without any
worldly cares, except keeping her maids in order.
Her son was short, thin, with a long neck, encircled
by a turned-down collar, a large nose, and a complex-
ion which he and his mother had in vain tried to
ameliorate. When he spoke, you understood that
his striking nose had to answer for his nasal accent.
If the faintest of smiles crossed Regina's lips as he

A SOIRKE in the old town. 55

made her a bow, not a shadow of suspicion entered
her mind that this slight youth came there with an
idea of asking her to allow him to be the lord and
master of her destiny. Before the evening was over,
she certainly became aware that she was undergoing
his scrutiny, but she had not even the grace to blush
when she met his eye, so indifferent was she.

Lepeaute, giving a glance round the salon to make
sure that all the expected guests were arrived, made
a second appearance with a tray of tea. As he
passed the young ladies, he said in a stage whisper,
" Mesdemoiselles, go and bring the cakes."

As soon as the tea was over, preparations were
made for a musical evening.

In F ranee, as in England, there are found willing
and unwilling martyrs to music, and French young
ladies tremble and sing out of tune, and lose com-
mand of their fingers just as their English sisters do.

When it came to Regina's turn, she came to a
dead-stop after the first two bars, and it was only
her vehement desire to please Madame Latour which
enabled her to make a new start and get to the end.
After her trial was over, she was able to look about
her, and enjoy the novelty of being at a party.

All at once, under cover of some cadenza of M. de
Lusson's flute, a lady addressed Regina —

" You must find Juvigny very dull after Paris."
The voice was harsh and staccato — not at all one in
harmony with the fair face of the speaker, for she
was very fair, with luxuriant golden hair. "\\ as
she pretty? that was a question often mooted, and

56 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

answered as often contradictorily. Regina, for in-
stance, decided at first, yes — then, no, all through
the evening. Perhaps the secret of the charm which
she undoubtedly possessed, lay in her power of ex-
citing the imagination. One of her admirers had
described her as a charmeuse. At this moment she
simply startled Regina, who said timidly, "I beg
your pardon, did you speak to me ?"

"I said that you would find Juvigny dull after
Paris."

" Being at school at Passy is not living in Paris,"
said Regina, scarcely liking the tone in which she
was addressed.

" You are then still at school ?"

" Yes, madame."

" Are there many girls as old as you in the school ?"

"No, I am one of the eldest."

All this time the lady's eyes roved over Regina's
person with intense curiosity.

" You know M. Paul Latour, I suppose ?"

" Oh, yes ! very well," returned Regina, hastily.

" So do I ; he is almost my oldest friend ; we
played together as children. I used to live in that
old house just below Madame Latour's. There's
only a year's difference in our age."

" He looks much older than you, but that's owing
to his beard, perhaps," observed Regina.

" Is he much at Madame Saincere's ?"

" I dare say he is, but I only see him every other
Sunday when I go home."

" You call Madame Saincere's house your home ?"

A SOIREE IN THE OLD TOWN. 57

" Yes, maclame."

There was a short interval of silence while Madem-
oiselle Lucie sang that pretty French song, " Pour-
quoi?" popular in her mother's youth.

"Oh, how sweet!" exclaimed Regina. "I wish
she would sing again."

"Do you? her voice has lost all its freshness.
What an old maid Isabelle looks ! Does Monsieur
Latour talk much of Juvigny?"

" He never scarcely talks to me, but he came to
the station the morning I was coming here, and he
told me to be sure and see the woods."

" I don't imagine Madame Latour is a great
walker. If you like I will call on you to-morrow,
and take you to the Vierge du hetreP

" Oh, thank you ! I should be so glad, if Madame
Latour will allow me."

"Very well. Expect me about two o'clock. My
name is Madame Aubry."

Madame Aubry's attentions to Regina gave rise
to many a significant smile and whisper, but their
conversation was stopped by a scream and a crash.
Lepeaute, who had never been known to commit a
similar crime in his life, let fall the tray with the ice
— cut his own fingers and Madame Latour's foot.
The fact was he had been trying to overhear what
Madame Gerard was saying to Madame Latour, for
Lepeaute knew as well as every one else why Mon-
sieur Charles Gerard had been asked to meet the
young lady from Paris.

" There's an end of all harmony for this evening,"

58 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

sighed M. de Lusson, and put his flute back into its
case. " How in heaven's name did Lepeaute come
to be so awkward '?"

As they returned home, Regina told Madame La-
tour of Madame Aubry's proposal for the morrow,
adding, " Her face is quite familiar to me. I can't
think where I could have seen her before."

Madame Latour replied, " Some accidental like-
ness — for you certainly never could have met her
before." Madame Latour made no objection to the
walk to the Vierge clu hetre. It was convenient to
her that Regina should be out of the way on the
following afternoon, as Madame Gerard had pro-
posed to call and have some private conversation as
to their matrimonial project.

CHAPTER VI.

THE SHADOW OP EVIL.

The next day was all sunshine; the air full of
the sound of bells, brought by the gentle breeze just
stirring the leaves of the great elms of the Paquis,
through which Madame Aubry and Regina were
passing. They turned to the right, up a path with
broad grassy margins, dotted with tufts of wild
thyme and sage, which, trod upon, sent forth whiffs
of their aromatic perfume. The birds had done
singing for this year — their second broods were out
in the world ; but every now and then a set of gos-
siping restless martins made sweeping curves across
the blue sky, their breasts shining like silver as they
glanced in the sunshine in their downward dive to
the earth.

"I must try to know one tree from another,"
thought Regina, and forthwith asked Madame Aubry
how such and such a tree was called.

Adeline replied shortly, as a person does who is
thinking how best to broach some other subject.

Regina stared intently at the forked tails of the
vivacious birds, and picked a leaf that she might
make sure of knowing a martin and an elm again.

They had passed the space between the Paquis
and the wood ; they were now in the cloisterdike

60 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

alley that stretches right across from one highway
to another; the thickly interwoven branches over-
head shut out the sun ; but baffled there, the rays
penetrated right and left — now touching the bole of j
a beech, or dancing in and out of the small-leaved *
periwinkle which spreads so rich and thick a carpet
in the woods of Juvig-nv.

" And this tree, madame ?" again questioned
Regina.

" That— oh ! that is a lime."

Madame Aubry watched Regina gathering the
wild-flowers that grew by the path. "Are you
studying botany, that you are so taken up with ti'ees
and weeds ?" she asked, in the same dry staccato
voice in which she had first addressed Regina.

" Xo, madame, but Monsieur Paul advised me to
study nature."

" I did not know that Monsieur Latour was pro-
fessor of Natural History to a girl's school."

" He is not a professor that I know of; but as I am
fond of drawing, he advised me one day to sketch
from nature."

" He is very kind to you then ?"

Regina hesitated for a minute before she replied.

" He is always very polite to every one : he never
talks to me / only, when he knew I was coming here,
he spoke about my sketching and advised me to go
to the woods."

" We used to be great friends — playfellows as I
told you last evening. I thought him altered for
the worse when he came here last — giving himself

THE SHADOW OF EVIL. 61

great airs — grown quite conceited. Everybody
says, you know, that Isabelle de Lusson was in love
with him. And that horrid peaked-beard of his, in
imitation of Vandyke, does he still wear it?"

Regina said, "Yes," paused, and then spoke in de-
fence of Madame Latour's son.

" None of Madame Saincere's friends think him

conceited," said she. " Dr. M and all the other

clever people who come to Madame Saincere's are
very fond of him."

" Don't be angry with me, Mademoiselle Xolo-
poeus. I know that Monsieur Latour is held by
many people to be perfection. Surely some one told
me his aunt had found a feminine perfection to match
him ?"

" I never heard that — but it may be true — for, of
course, I should not be told till everything was
settled."

If ever a lady was tempted to beat another,
Madame Aubry was so tempted at that moment.
She positively hated Regina for the cool way in
which she agreed to the possibility of Paul's mar-
riage. It seemed as if done on purpose to vex her.
And of what was the girl made, to live so much in
his society and yet remain so indifferent ?

Adeline Aubry had no conception of the feeling of
discomfort she was giving Regina ; and just as little
had Regina any insight into the motive prompting
every word of her companion. If by some sudden
revelation Regina had learned that the woman by
her side, wife and mother, loved Paul Latour — was

62 A TSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

frantically jealous of him, was at that moment in
actual clandestine correspondence with him, it is
more than probable that Mademoiselle Nolopcous
would have committed that greatest of misdemeanors
in a French young lady, left her chaperone and re-
turned alone to Madame Latour. Regina was at
that stage of life when all the virtues and the most
heroic sacrifices seem possible — when there is no in-
dulgence for error. Regina innocently believed that
Paul was an object of dislike to Madame Aubry, and
that, therefore, it woidd be better to talk of some
one or something else. By some spell or other, how-
ever, the conversation always got back to Paris.
Dove il dente duole, la lingua batte, says the subtle
Italian proverb.

When they reached the end of the walk^ the shrine
of the Virgin of the beech, Regina was thoroughly
exhausted.

" I suppose it is my not being accustomed to walk-
ing," she observed to account for her fatigue. She
could not guess the strain that want of sympathy
imposes on our every faculty.

They sat down on one of the benches which sur-
round a patch of grass, from the centre of which
rises a magnificent beech. On its smooth, straight
stem is fastened, about five feet from the ground, a
glass case containing diminutive wax figures of the
Virgin and Child. Above and below this shrine,
round and round the trunk of the tree, are all kinds
of ex-votos, offerings of the poor, wedding- wreaths,
funeral garlands, rosaries of black or white or brown

THE SHADOW OF EVIL. 03

beads, small leaden crosses, knots of faded ribbon,
nosegays — some withered, others freshly gathered —
chaplets of ivy and cypress, little framed pictures of
saints.

" I should like to try and make a sketch of this
place," said Regina ; " hut I have not brought my
book. Have you a scrap of paper, madame ?"

"Nothing that will do for a drawing."

" It is to copy that prayer nailed on the tree."

"A half-mad woman wrote it. I suppose they
teach you to be very devout at your school ? It's
becoming quite the fashion to be pious."

"Madame Flot is very particular about our going
to mass," said Kegina; "but we don't fast much."

" Oh, indeed !" returned Madame Aubry, with a
slight laugh.

Another long silence, broken by Madame Aubry's
asking, "What is the subject of your thoughts,
mademoiselle ?"

" I was thinking of the meaning of some parts of
that prayer, wondering what the dangers of the
world could be for ladies and gentlemen. I under-
stand that jDoor people can be tempted to do wrong,
but not persons like us."

" I am no philosopher," said Madame Aubry.
" Pray how old are you, mademoiselle ?"

" I shall be eighteen next month."

" I should not have guessed you to be more than
sixteen. At eighteen I was as much a woman as I
am now."

As she spoke thus, there came over Madame Aubry

64 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

a startling perception of what she really was now,
Her youth on the wane — a loveless wife. Courted
and admired, not esteemed, her whole wealth a love
built too probably on a foundation of sand.

' ; One of these days," said an inner voice, " he will
marry ; his mother will force him to do so ; and what
will become of me?"

She turned a pair of fierce eyes on Regina. " And
this girl has her whole future before her. She may
love, and be loved in return. Ah ! if I could only
go back a few years — stand again at the dawn of
womanhood !"

How clearly the poor soul perceived the opportu-
nities she had let slip by. It was not her love for
Paul that so galled her spirit ; that had in it, as yet,
no wounds for her woman's pride; he held her in a
reverence as sincere as that he had for his mother.
It was, that she felt she had no right to that rever-
ence — it was his free gift, and she winced as she
thought that the hour might, nay, must come, when
he would coujde her name with all the ungracious
things that are said and written of women who love
as they should not.

Often, even in these present days, when no eye
was on her, she paled and reddened, and shrunk as
from a cruel probe, when reading or hearing of sim-
ilar cases to her own. She had never had any
strength except in the cause of evil.

Regina's pure earnest eyes acted on her soul like
the touch of Ithuriel's spear. She saw what a weary
length of road she had traversed since her own un-

THE SHADOW OF EVIL. 65

gracious youth. All her blunders and weakness s
started up before her. No undoing- what was done ;
no going back, no going back !

The heart has prophetic warnings. Madame Au-
bry, from the first moment of seeing Regina, had
felt jealous. At this moment a dread, sharp as the
sudden fear of death, made her thrill from head to
foot.

" " Never — no, never will I give him up," she said
half aloud.

And the sun shone brightly on her and Regina,
making every character of the prayer against temp-
tation more visible, gilding the ex-votos, surround-
ing as with a glory those signs of human suffering
and human faith, and children gambolled, shriek-
ing with laughter, and none saw the shadow of evil
by the side of the woman and the girl.

CHAPTER VII.

YOUTH AXD AGE.

Madame Latoue de la Mottie did not immedi-
ately inform Regina that M. Charles Gerard had
made her a proposal of marriage. She first Avrote
to Madame Saincere to inquire whether Mademoi-
selle Xolopoeus was to be married under the regime
dotal, or that of a commtmcmte de Mens. Madame
Saincere replied — " The regime dotal, certainly."
M.tdameLatour wrote again to say that the Gerards
iu-isted on a communaute de Mens : that it was a
usual arrangement in their rank of life.

A further delay ensued while Madame Saincere
communicated with the Comte and Comtesse de
Rochetaillee. It had become absolutely necessary
that they should state what would be Regina's fu-
ture heritage — what they were willing to give on
her marriage, and also if they would accept M.
Charles Gerard for her husband.

The answer was in Madame de Rochetaillee's own
hand. Her consent, and that of. Monsieur de Roche-
taillee, would be given to any one approved of by
Madame Saincere. Regina's le^al inheritance was
a hundred thousand francs (4, 0007.) In the event
of her marrying, the half of that sum should be

YOUTH AND AGE. 67

advanced. Not a word of interest added for their
granddaughter.

Upon this, Madame Saincfere begged Madame La-
tour, before agreeing to the Gerards' conditions, to
ascertain if Regina was well disposed toward the
match ; there was no necessity for forcing her in-
clinations ; young men in search of a dot were plen-
tiful.

When it actually came to the point of broaching
the subject to the young girl, Madame Latour was
astonished to discover in herself a repugnance to the
task. And yet it must be done, for the Gerards
were impatient for an answer, as failing Regina,
they had another person in view.

Some evenings after the walk to the Vierge du
JiCtre, the lady and her guest were seated on the ter-
race, in the garden. The sun, a great ball of fire,
seemed balancing itself on the top of the opposite
hill : its last crimson rays came streaming across the
purple woods, enveloping Regina's whole figure in a
misty radiance. A sweet joy lit up her face. Not
a flaw in the smooth clear skin — the cheeks of the
color of the sunny side of a ripe peach. The large
dark eyes, full of a daughter's love, were raised to
Madame Latour.

Regina was talking with great animation in an-
swer to some remark of Madame Latour's : — " Oh,
yes, I mean to try and write a book some day. Alex-
ander the Great interests me more than Charlemagne.
I am sure he would be a capital hero for a romance.
So young, and brave, and handsome !"

68 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

How was Madame Latour to offer Charles Gerard
to a young lady whose ideal at that instant was
Alexander of Macedon ?

" Very well, as yon say, for a romance, my dear ;
but my experience has taught me that happiness
is much more likely to be had with common-place
people than with heroes, or indeed with men cele-
brated in any way. Every one who knows anything
of life, Regina, will tell you that great warriors, or
gi'eat poets or painters, make the worst husbands.
Women who mean to be happy, should avoid any-
thing like genius. Napoleon or Goethe were never
meant to be husbands. No, no, my dear. Glory
and fame are terrible rivals to a wife."

Regina said —

" Still it must be delightful to be proud of a hus-
band : to see him looked up to, and to hear him
praised."

" And if this paragon should hold you as nothing ?"

" He could not prevent my belonging to him, and
being glad to serve him. It must be such a happi-
ness to do something for those one cares for."

"My poor child, you know nothing about the
matter: that sort of love is good between mother
and infant."

" I am nothing to you, and yet I am so happy to
be with you !" was the reply.

Madame Latour winced, and then a suspicion seized
on her. She had been more than once loved by
young ladies for Paul's sake. She turned her eyes
from the loving face before her, and answered —

YOUTH AND AGE. G9

"Reality is so different from what you imagine,
Regina. My dear, I wish you would believe me."

Regina's eyes fastened on those of Madame La-
tour with an expression of anxiety.

"My dear" — and the lady's voice became very
persuasive — " My dear, do believe me. JYb man is
worth any sacrifice."

The rich color in Regina's cheeks paled. She
said —

" I should like to talk to you of my father and
mother. I never have to any one since they died."
Her voice was husky, and she put her hand to her
throat as if something pained her.

Madame Latour, with a sudden softening of the
heart, stooped forward and kissed Regina. The
girl, holding the lady's face close to her own, whis-
pered —

" My mother, when she was near dying, told me
never to forget that my father had made her very
happy : that she had never once been sorry for beino-
his wife ; and 1 know now that my mother gave up
a great deal for his sake."

That evening there was no talk of Monsieur Charles
Gerard. Madame Latour determined to choose the
midday hours for announcing his proposal. Sunsets
were too suggestive of heroes of romance.

The next morning she told Regina, in a dry matter-
of-fact manner, that Monsieur Charles Gerard, one
of the young gentlemen that she had met at Madame
de Lusson's soiree, had made her a proposal of mar-
riage.

70 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

" Why for me ?" asked the amazed Regina.

" Because he admires you. Listen patiently to
me for five minutes. He is a young man of good
family; his mother has brought Mm up admirably
he is fond of reading ; is exceedingly well-bred ; hat
no brothers or sisters. His income and yours would
give you twelve thousand francs a year — affluence
in Juvigny. By-and-by, between the increase of
salary which his advancement insures, and your in-
heritance and his, you will be extremely well ofi", and
able to live in Paris. He is an amiable, steady young
man. No one knows that better than Paul. Ma-
dame Saincere writes me, that your grandparents
would approve of the match."

" Oh, maclame !" exclaimed Pegina, clasping her
hands, " I am not obliged to marry him, am I ?"

" No — certainly, but I advise you to reflect before
you refuse him. My dear Pegina, there are some
disadvantages on your side — not your fault, my poor
child, — but your mother's mesalliance, and the per-
sistency of Monsieur and Madame de Pochetaillee
in not acknowledging you, may make many persons
object to receiving you into their family. It would
be such a comfort to all your friends to have you
settled. You must marry some day, and you may
never have so good an offer. You would be near me
also ; not entirely among strangers."

" Is Monsieur Gerard really a friend of M. Paul's ?"

"Yes; Paul likes him very much. They were at
the Lycee together. Take till to-morrow to think

YOUTH AND AGE. 71

the matter over." And Madame Latour patted
Regina on the back, and smiled on her encourag-
ingly.

It is a fact that Madame Latour had become quite
anxious for this marriage ; a good many small causes
had contributed to make her so. First, the unde-
fined fear that Regina might attract Paul. She was
not the wife for such as Paid. She was too excita-
ble, too passionate, too little of a bourgeoise — gipsy
blood and noble blood were too evident in her ; and,
in addition, the lady was unwilling to fail in what
she had undertaken. Lastly, she truly considered it
an eligible marriage for the girl.

Regina did reflect a little on the matter. Her
first impulse had been to give an unconditional
negative; then she was seized by a dread of being
separated from the only friends she could boast of,
for had not Madame Latour declared that she must
marry some day ? Now if she accepted M. Charles
Gerard, she should be near to Madame Latour, and
sure of sometimes seeing M. Paul. That certainly
Avas an inducement, and she lost herself for a little
in a reverie about M. Paul's coming to see her. But
the next morning it appeared that even the pleasure
of M. Paul's expected visits had failed to reconcile
her to the reality of being M. Gerard's wife, for she
told Madame Latour that she had tried very hard to
make up her mind to marry him, but she could not.
She was so sorry to "disappoint madamc." She
hoped " madame would not be angry with her."

72 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

" I have no right to be angry," said Madame La-
tour, "but I regret your decision; I feel that you
are throwing away an excellent chance of happi-
ness."

" I am very sorry, madame, but indeed I cannot
take him ; I do not like him at all, he is so little, and
so very ugly." Regina said this with tears in her
eyes.

" I did not know that husbands were chosen by
measurement," was the vexed reply.

It was, however, useless to argue the matter fui*-
ther, and when Madame Latour wrote to inform
Madame Saincere of Mademoiselle Nolopceus's re-
fusal of Monsieur Charles Gerard, Paul's mother
could not help expressing a fear that Regina had
inherited her mother's romantic nature.

Madame Saincere, in reply, took a more liberal
view of Regina's conduct. She said that she thought
the refusal indicated delicacy of feeling. So many
girls of seventeen were ready to marry any one, in
order to have the power of doing as they pleased,
and of being called Madame; whereas Regina was
quite aware that in refusing M. Gerard she would
have to return to school and school discipline. Re-
gina had better be sent back to Paris as soon as a
suitable opportunity occurred.

Regina was very low-spirited at the idea of leav-
ing Juvigny. This puzzled Madame Aubry, to
whom she paid a parting visit.

" You must be delighted to go back to Paris ?"
said Madame Aubry in her driest voice.

YOUTH AND AGE. 73

"No; I am very, very sorry to leave Juvigny. I
have never been so happy in my life as here."

"I shouldn't have thought your hostess a very
lively companion," said Adeline, in a low voice.

" It has never been the least dull. It has seemed
like home."

" And your drawings ; the sketches you were to
do for M. Latour ?"

" I was not to do them for him — it was to teach
myself."

"I suppose you will show them to him?"

" If he asks me, but I dare say he will not."

"Well, if he inquires how we get on here with-
out the light of his countenance, be sure and tell
him we thrive tolerably, and that the sun warms and
the moon shines just as they did in days of yore."

Regina's heart was very full when she took leave
of Madame Latour. It was at the station. In
France friends are not allowed to accompany you
to the carriages.

"You are sure you have your ticket safe, and
your keys ?"

"Yes, madame; I will not detain you longer. I
will go to the waiting-room." Regina received Mad-
ame Latour's parting kiss in silence, and disappeared
into the salle cfattente.

Madame Latour was already in the outer court of
the station when she heard some one running be-
hind her. It was Regina.

" Oh, madame ! forgive me."

" My dear girl, you will miss the train !"

7-1 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

Retina's arms were round Madame Latour's neck.
" Love me a little," she whispered.

"I do love you a great deal."

" Pauvre petite — a-t-elle du cceur f n muttered a
peasaut-woman who saw this scene.

CHAPTER YIII.

BREAKERS AHEAD.

Regina found that her terrors as to Madame Sain-
cere's displeasure, or that of M. Paul, on account of
her rejection of Charles Gerard were quite imagi-
nary. She had expected to be questioned and lec-
tured by the one, and that the other would view her
with angry eyes; and neither the one thing nor the
other happened. It was her first lesson as to how
we exaggerate our own importance. She never even
found a favorable opportunity for giving Madame
Aubry's message to M. Latour. As for her sketches,
he had clearly forgotten that he had ever advised
her to draw.

Paul Latour at that particular moment was en-
gaged in a sharp correspondence with an angry
woman. The sight of Regina had filled Angeline
Aubrv with distrust and fears, and she wrote Paul
letters, such as only jealous and violent women can
write. It was, of course, useless for him to protest
that he was utterly indifferent to Regina — that if
she were beautiful he had never perceived that she
was so — that he took no interest in the girl ; and,
in fact, that he should be glad of any circumstance
which should deliver Madame Saincere from any
further charge of her.

Madame Aubry put faith in his protestations for

76 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

half a clay ; but by night-time her suspicion had
raised its hydra head, hissing horrible doubts of his
truth into her excited brain. Once she wrote him
that she had prayed — fervently prayed — that he
might take the small-pox and be rendered hateful
to the sight of every woman but herself. The fol-
lowing post brought him a recantation and a pa-
thetic prayer for forgiveness. He was free— he must
do whatever he thought most conducive to his hap-
piness — if to marry and forget her would be best
for him, so let it be. Another day there came a wild
incoherent rhapsody, imploring him to do anything
and everything but marry. She could endure any
suffering rather than that of knowing another wo-
man had a right over him — it would kill her. These
letters were written during the first week after Re-
gina's return to the Rue Blanche. It was clear that
Paul still loved Adeline, for he was neither angry
nor annoyed by her letters.

At the end of eight days Adeline came to Paris.
She went to the house of some friend as silly as
herself, and there ensued a series of stormy inter-
views and passionate scenes. No wonder Paul for-
got to inquire into Regina's progress in drawing.

Quite as angry, if not so vehement as those of
Madame Aubry, were the letters his mother now
sent him. She assured him that Monsieur Aubry
was the only person in Juvigny ignorant that there
was a correspondence kept up between him and
Madame Aubry — the only one unsuspicious of the
motive of Madame Aubry's visit to Paris.

BREAKERS AHEAD. 77

Madame Latour recapitulated, with all the fervor
of a mother alarmed for the safety of her son, the
dangers of the position. "Madame Aubry was so
flighty, so careless, so daring — it needed but one of
her customary imprudences, and M. Aubry would be
as well informed as his neighbors of what was <roino-
on. Paul must remember that the carrying on of a
clandestine correspondence with another man's wife
was punishable by law. It would be his mother's
death-blow to have him dragged into a court of jus-
tice for an offence of such a nature."

Naturally, Madame Latour wrote to Madame Sain-
cere to use her influence with Paul.

Madame Saincere was nothing loth (what woman
ever is ?) to give advice. Paul, on his side, irritated
and excited by the two angry women he had to con-
tend with, and something uneasy also, was not sorry
to talk the matter over with a kindly woman of the
world, interested, and yet not too much interested
in him. No friend so agreeable for a man as a clever
good woman, who has renounced all pretensions to
youth.

Madame Saincere had seen too much — known too
much — to fall into common-place abuse of Madame
Aubry. She never once said — "She ought not;"
on the contrary, she spoke mercifully of the woman
— severely of the man. " Whatever a man sutlers,"
she said to Paul, "the woman is always the real
victim ; it is she alone whom the laws of society
visit severely — have mercy on her, Paul ! After all,
you cannot with truth call yourself unhappy; you

78 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

eat, drink, sleep, enjoy music, books, the theatre,
tolerably well without her; it will be downright
egotism in you to lead this poor thing to destruc-
tion."

" But what am I to do ? I have done my best to
make her understand the perils of her position. Not
a morning for the last month that I have not awoke
with the presentiment of some horrid catastrophe."

" I will go to Juvigny and see her," said his aunt.

Paul grew very red.

" She is here in Paris."

" That makes it easier for me," replied Madame
Saincere, quietly. " Find an opportunity of telling
her that I am going to pay her a visit. It will look
as if all was right, if your aunt goes to see her."

When Madame Saincere saw Adeline Aubry she
ceased to wonder at what her sister called Paul's in-
fatuation. " Jolie comme un demon" she said to
herself, as the fair sylph-like figure came forward to
meet her. Madame Saincere had expected coldness,
reserve, sulkiness, anything but to find the arms of
this dainty creature round her neck — and she had
kissed the cheek presented to her before she well
knew what she was about. They sat down, Ade-
line's hand clasping that of Paul's aunt.

" Don't scold me," began Madame Aubry, with a
sweet mutinous pout. She wished to charm Madame
Saincere. " I confess I am wrong, very wrong now ;
but it was not wrong, you know, ten years ago."

"Ten years!" repeated Madame Saincere, "why
you don't look more than twenty."

BBEAKEKS AHEAD- 79

" I am twenty-eight. lie is always calling him-
self old; not very polite when he knows I am only
one year younger than him. I suppose he means me
to understand that he thinks me old."

Madame Saincere, who had taken quite a tragical
view of Adeline's situation, who was prepared for
tears and lamentations, was disconcerted by the
lightness of this speech. It might have been made
by some foolish girl, not by a woman who, had she
possessed either sense or feeling, could not have
spoken with such sans-fapon of Paul and herself.

" And yet she has not the look of a fool," thought
Madame Saincere, seeking how best to introduce
what she had sought the interview to say.

" I see by your face you think ill of me," said Ad-
eline, suddenly.

Madame Saincere seized the ball thrown to her.
— " Honestly, I disapprove of you ; it w T as not, how-
ever, merely to tell you disagreeable truths that I
am here. If I knew nothing else than what scandal
says, I should certainly not have come to see you;
but I have been told what gives me an interest in
you. I am aware that you are without any real
friend, surrounded by foolish companions who, either
from idleness or love of mischief, would push you
over the precipice, on the edge of which you are
standing."

Adeline changed color rapidly, and said, in her
sharpest staccato voice, " I have done nothing
wrong."

Madame Saincere said, " Your corresponding with

80 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

my nephew is wrong. Do you never think of the
possibility of a discovery ?"

" I take care of that ; I always receive his letters
myself."

"And the postman, of course, observes that you
do so. Let me tell you that wrong-doing always
betrays itself. Your husband possibly may never
find out all that is going on ; he must nevertheless
have some vague suspicions."

" Xot my husband," said Adeline, shortly.

" Then he is full of confidence in you," went on
Madame Saincere. " Passion, I know, is without
conscience, so I will not appeal to your conscience.
But has no one else ever spoken to you about Paul ?"

" My mother-in-law once scolded me about him."

"Ah! then she at all events has suspicions; she
may look in your desk or your work-table any day,
for, I lay my life, his letters are in the unsafeSt place.
Since Eve ate that unlucky apple, nothing has caused
more evil in the world than scribbling. My dear,
you must give up this correspondence."

Adeline shook her head.

" What's the use of it ?" asked Madame Saincere.

" It gives me emotions."

Madame Saincere lost patience. " And you risk
the lives of two men — you forget your children's
welfare — and all for the sake of having emotions!"

Adeline sat silent.

" I cannot tell you how much I despise you," went
on Madame Saincere, her blue eyes flashing, and her
voice rising. "And you call that love ! Oh! Ma-

BREAKERS AHEAD. 81

dame Aubry, I have more respect for those unfortu-
nate creatures who ply their unholy trade to gain
their bread, than for women like you, who play kit-
ten-like with men, for the sake of having emotions." 1
Adeline's face was turned toward the speaker,
her eyes dilated and her lips apart. There was a
look of fear mingling with some other feeling — was
it hatred or cruelty ? was there an instinctive wish
for revenge ?

Presently she said, in a low voice, " I am not the
least offended at what you say. Do you suppose
you would have had the opportunity of lecturing me
to-day about these letters, if Paul had had the same
love for me I have for him ? He says, and I say, his
mother prevented his marrying me ; it was not so.
He had told me he loved me ; and I had told him 1
loved him. He had only to have said, 'Wait,' and
I would have waited ; but he wrote me a long rig-
marole, half lamentation, half sorrow, but the main
point was — to give me up. I was so stung, that I
married. It was no use ; I could not get rid of my
love for him. I heard that he had forgotten me, and
yet I loved him. Then he came back to Juvigny,
and we met — not by my will, by accident. One day
he even bid me be on my guard against him."
"He did what was right."

" If he really loved me, he ought to accept the
responsibility. Do you think I should care what I
suffered for him ? I love him in spite of being aware
that he is quite capable of calculating the conse-
quences of his actions. My dear madame, Paul can

82 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

take very good care of himself; he will never write
a word that can compromise him, even were M.
Aubry an Othello."

" Yon silly, silly woman !" said Madame Saincere ;
"yon ought to offer up a thanksgiving night and
morning for Paul's unselfishness. Have you lived all
these years without using your eyes and ears ? Are
you nearly thirty, and been mixing with men and
women for the last ten years, and not observed that
all passion dies out of itself, that there is no wild
beast so cruel as a man cannot help being to the
woman who has sacrificed herself to him, and whom
he has ceased to love ? Women, in their relations
with men, require the support of society ; put your-
self beyond its pale, and being passed under saws
and harrows of iron, is nothing to the tortures you
you will have to endure."

Adeline would have been a shining exception
among young women, had she been convinced by
Madame Saincere's words. That she was not, her
reply showed : — " And yet one hears of men being
slaves for life."

Madame Saincere was a thoroughly good woman.
She had helped more than one pilgrim on the weary
road of life. She had seen so much that she had
become as pitiful of mental as great physicians are
of bodily malady. They feel none of the disgust
and horror with which the uninitiated shrink from
disease. Neither did Madame Saincere draw back
from the sick in mind or heart. In spite of her
quickness of temperament, she was patient with all

BREAKERS AHEAD. 83

sorts of error — except when it took the shape of
meanness. She had certainly lost the prepossession
jin Adeline's favor which she had conceived on first
'seeing her; but she was as much in earnest to do
her good at the end as at the beginning of the inter-
view. She was also a wise woman, — she made use
of the remedies she thought most calculated to effect
a cure, without first consulting any pharmacopoeia
to see if her medicines were orthodox or not.

Morality — religion — duty. Adeline would have
scoffed at all three. Love, in such breasts as hers,
is very audacious, — it enters the temple and de-
thrones God himself. Madame Saincere intuitively
knew this. Laying one hand on Adeline's shoulder,
and raising the pretty little face to hers, she said :

" Your great fear, then, is the loss of Paul's love.
I will give you an infallible charm to retain it. Re-
linquish all intercourse with him, and he will never
cease to regret you; none other will ever occupy
your place in his heart. Believe an old woman who
^ias seen many sad things, but none sadder than the
conclusion of such affairs as this you have begun. I
dare say you do often feel life tedious and colorless ;
it is a state of feeling into which young married
women who can afford to be idle often fall when the
hopes and illusions of the girl have vanished, and
the novelty of marriage has vanished. You are at
the most critical stage of your life. Travel — change
the scene. Your husband is rich ; ask him for a
tour in Switzerland — Italy — anywhere. And re-
member this : happiness is never in the possession of

84 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

what we covet ; it flies our approach as does the
horizon."

Madame Saincere withdrew quickly, so as not to
let the effect of her words be diminished by dis-
cussion.

A week after, Madame Aubry left a card with
P. P. C. on it, in the Rue Blanche ; and Madame.
Saincere took it for granted that her conversation
with Adeline had brought forth good fruit.

It remained a conjecture; for neither Paul nor
Adeline admitted her further into their confidence.

CHAPTER IX.

"IT'S OF NO USE, MADAME."

Reglna's refusal of Gerard threw Madame Sain-
cere into some perplexity. What was to be done
with her ? She could not remain a permanent pupil
at Passy. Once more Madame Saincere tried to in-
terest the De Rochetaillees for their granddaughter.
She wrote them a warm description of Regina's
beauty, dwelling at length on the love and esteem
felt for her by all those who had had any share in
her education. Regina would be an ornament to any
family; and Madame Saincere prayed the grand-
father and grandmother to remember what a disad-
vantage the want of the countenance of her mother's
family must be to the innocent girl. It would need
only their recognition to place her in a position to
make such a marriage as would obliterate all trace
of poor Blanche's mesalliance.

There was no delay in the reply — written by the
notary.

The Comte and Comtesse de Rochetaillee were
gratified by the satisfactory accounts they had re-
ceived of Mademoiselle Nolopoeus, from one they so
highly respected as Madame Saincere. Monsieur
and Madame de Rochetaillee entreated that lady
not to withdraw her protection from the young wo-

86 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

man, and to make any arrangement she thought fit
as to a home for Mademoiselle Nolopceus.

This letter Madame Saincere showed to Regina.
The cold measured words in which her grand-pa-
rents, her natural protectors, threw her on the mercy
of strangers, fell heavy as stones on the poor girl's
heart. But perhaps what inflicted the sharpest,
most stinging pain, was Madame Saincere asking
her what place she would prefer.

" If you do not like to remain as a parlor-hoarder
with Madame Flot, it would not be difficult to find
you a home in some respectable family."

As she listened to these words a sudden faintness
seized on Regina. She was then doomed to be a
vagabond. Bravely hiding the wound she had re-
ceived, she answered —

" Let me remain with Madame Flot. She has al-
ways treated me well. I don't think she would wish
to force me to go among strangers."

Madame Saincere winced. — On first reading the
De Rochetaillees' unfeeling letter, her impulse had
been to invite Regina to stay with her ; but what with
the dread of losing the tranquillity of her life, by as-
suming the charge of a demoiselle d marier, and the
loud opposition of a chorus of cousins (French peo-
ple are a- rich in cousins as the Scotch) ; backed, too,
by warnings from Madame Latour, Madame Sain-
cere had decided, not without a little remorse,
against the promptings of her good heart.

She said to herself —

" I am an egotist, but I have bought my quiet

"IT'S OF NO USE, MADAME." 87

dear enough. Ah! yes; if any one has a right to
wrap themselves in a cloak of selfishness, I have. I
gave up all, and received nothing."

At the end of one of these painful half-hours of rem-
iniscenes, when memory suddenly presents us with a
list of our failures, and with a grim picture of past
hopes and illusions, Madame Saincere said —

" After all, by trying to better things, we often
make them worse ;" and wrote to Madame Flot to
propose Regina as a parlor-boarder. As the offer for
the accommodation required was liberal, there was do
difficulty in carrying out the arrangement.

Not long after Regina had been installed at Passy
as demoiselle en chambre, Paul one evening startled
his aunt by saying —

" I really believe I have found you the eligible
husband you are always invoking for Mademoiselle
Regina. I understand her having refused Charles
Gerard. I shall have a very poor opinion of her
taste and judgment if she says no to Felix Desjar-
dins. He is one of the finest fellows I know. Large-
hearted and large-minded. He has made his way at
the bar by dint of talent and perseverance ; for he
had neither connections nor interest to back him, and
now he stands in the foremost rank of our rising ad-
vocates."

" But what makes you imagine such a man would
ever think of Regina ? He might have a wide choice
amono- girls with more fortune, and none of her dis>
advantages."

" It is exactly what you consider her disadvan-

88 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

tages that have attracted him. He has a dread of a
wife's family. It was hearing him say, that if ever
he ventured on marriage it should be with an orphan,
which made me mention your protegee to him. Her
story has touched his heart, and he begged me to
propose him to you."

" And what is he like ? Merit and goodness do
not carry the day with girls. An angel with a bald
head does not appear an angel to them."

"Desjardins has plenty of hair and a fine intelli-
gent countenance. He is not a man of fashion, but
his manners are good."

" Girls have a horrible facility for falling in love
with idle good-looking men," said Madame Saincere,
with considerable emphasis. " However, let us give
my gipsy another chance of having a reasonable man
for her husband. She will be here, as usual, next
Sunday. Invite your friend for that day. Regina,
of course, will know nothing of why he comes."

Desjardins came, and was exceedingly struck by
Regina's beauty.

" She is too handsome," he said to Paul. " And
one of my crotchets is, that I should like to be the
only man to see beauty in my wife. I am as jealous
as a Spaniard. You never told me she was beauti-
ful. Well named Regina. She is the beau ideal of
a young queen. Such innocence, simplicity, and
beauty I never before saw combined."

Paul laughed.

" Habit must have dulled my senses, for, I confess,
I never discovered anything much out of the com-

"IT'S OF NO USE, MADAME." 89

inoii in Mademoiselle Nolopceus — a pretty brunette,
certainly; but I am not an admirer of dark women."

"And you call yourself a painter,' 1 said Desjardins,
with a shrug.

Paul repeated this conversation to his aunt.

" The man is positively in love."

" And I don't believe she would recognize him if
she met him in the street," replied Madame Sain-
cere. " As he has a gray hair or two visible, I dare
say she takes him for an old man."

The following Sunday Regina was again in the
Rue Blanche, and so was Desjardins. He endea-
vored to draw her into conversation, his expressive
face revealing all the admiration he dared not put
into words.

Paul's eyes, on this occasion, were suddenly opened
to see that Regina was in truth a superb Southern
beaut v, with eyes that looked as though it would be
difficult to sound their depth ; plenty of character
visible in face and form, as she sat tranquilly endur-
ing Desjardins' passionate glances. Paul, who now
that he had begun to observe, did so narrowly, saw
that under this sharp fire her color did not vary nor
her eyes droop.

He likened her in his thoughts to one of those
protid Roman maidens who ripened into a Portia or
an Arria. Once, while he was thus contemplating
her, their glances met, and the sudden softening of
her eyes, and the bright smile that just flitted over
her face startled him. A strange sensation made
him turn away abruptly, and throw himself into the

90 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

heat of a debate between his aunt and Dr. M .

But in the midst of tirades as to transmigration,
metempsychosis, and new and old souls, Paul heard
every word Desjardins was saying to Regina. He
listened to the barrister's ever-softening tones with a
growing exasperation. Looking round, he tried, but
in vain, to catch a sight of Regina's face ; she was
engrossed, no doubt, by Desjardins' conversation. So
much the better.

Madame Saincere's eyes travelled in the same
direction as those of Paul, and then she gave her
nephew a significant congratulatory nod, as much
as to say, "You have been successful, you see." On
the strength of this belief Madame Saincere invited
Regina to spend a fortnight in the Rue Blanche.

One more example of how we push our way
through the world, with about as much sight as the
mole. Or is there some unknown power which
amuses itself with snapping asunder all human webs,
disarranging our game, making us do that we would
not and should not ?

During the next fifteen days M. Desjardins found
reasons, which Madame Saincere willingly accepted,
for being almost every day at one hour or the other
in Regina's company. She had never visited the
gallery of the Louvre, nor that of Versailles, never
heard an Italian Opera, and it was quite time she
should ; and Madame Saincere told Paul three was
bad company, and he must make one of the party to
allow M. Desjardins to improve his opportunities.

" I begin to think the English plan of courtship,

" IT'S OF NO USE, MADAME." 91

with some modifications, excellent," observed the
good lady. "Our way of handing over a girl to a
Btranger is odious and absurd."

Madame Saincere thought as little of Paid as Paul
had thought of Regina before Desjardins' wooing.

That was a pleasant fortnight to all the party of
four — a delightful fortnight to Regina. It was so
calm, so like sailing on a smooth, blue sea — if it
could only never come to an end.

" Regina really grows beautiful," observed Mad-
ame Saincere to Paul. " The bud is in its perfec-
tion, within a day or two of becoming a rose. Your
friend will have to thank you for a charming wife."
They were in the gardens of Versailles.

" You believe, then, that she will accept Desjar-
dins ?"

" Yes— don't you ?"

"lam no judge. Desjardins worries me to get
him an answer."

"He is wrong to be in a hurry," said Madame
Saincere, without accounting to herself for her own
unwillingness to put the fatal question.

" However, you must allow she has sm-ely seen
him often enough to be able to say whether she likes
him or not," observed Paul.

" It is in your friend's interest I would delay.
He is a man who must gain by being well known.
I am by no means sure she has any idea he is think-
in £ of her."

Paul smiled. "I am in no hurry, my aunt. I
am merely Desjardins' ambassador, interpreter,—

92 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

what you will ; but I humbly suggest that if Ma-
demoiselle Regina is still in ignorance of his views,
that it would be kinder to Desjardin if she were en-
lightened."

" You men of the world never believe in a girl's
simplicity."

" I said just now I was no judge of young ladies."

" Well, I shall speak to her to-morrow, to please
you and your friend — quite against my own judg-
ment ; if things go wrong don't blame me, but your
own precipitation."

Madame Saincere was getting hot.

" I will tell Desjardins you object."

" No ; I have said I shall speak to her to-morrow,
and I shall do so."

It was Madame Saincere's habit every morning
after breakfast to seat herself at her writing-table
and get through her letters. Like most ladies with-
out children, she had a large correspondence. When
taking her usual place before her desk, she called
Retina to her.

" Sit down here by me, my dear, I have some-
thing to say to you."

Perhaps Regina really was untroubled by hearing
a phrase that is wont to send a thrill of apprehen-
sion through the most innocent breast. What is a
fact, is that she took the chair indicated by Madame
Saincere with a face as calm as usual.

"No doubt you can make a shrewd g^uess at what
I have to tell you," went on Madame Saincere, smil-
ing, and laying a hand on one of Regina's. " Young

" IT'S OF NO USE, MADAME." 93

ladies are seldom .blind to the admiration they in-
spire."

Regina neither blushed nor smiled — perhaps she
turned a trifle pale ; and Madame Saincere felt the
hand she held grow cold.

"My clear, without any more preamble, Monsieur
Desjardins wishes to marry you. I congratulate you
on the good fortune of having inspired a very supe-
rior man with a sincere and ardent love for you."

Madame Saincere stopped and gazed into the girl's
face ; no sculptured marble was ever whiter.

"You are too intelligent not to appreciate his
merit," continued Madame Saincere, with a feeling
similar to that of a general of experience who per-
ceives from the outset that a battle is lost. " I
should have no fears for your happiness with such a
husband : that you should be happy, Regina, is one
of the few desires I have left."

" I cannot marry Monsieur Desjardins," said Re-
gina.

" You cannot marry him ?" repeated Madame
Saincere, in a high key.

" Because I do not in the least like him," was the
firm reply.

"Then you are sillier, far sillier than I supposed
it possible," said Madame Saincere, sharply. " I
took you for something better than a mere Miss. I
believed you had heart and head enough to recog-
nize goodness and talent, when such things happened
to come in your way. Pray why don't you like him ?
He is good-looking, young enough ; he is well off;

94: a rsicHE or to-day.

absurdly in love. What do you want or hope foi
more ?"

" Nothing. I don't like him, and I never, never
could marry him," said Regina, still speaking with-
out excitement.

There was a letter lying on the writing-table. Ma-
dame Saincere took it up, saying, — " At least hear
what he says for himself; learn what it is you are so
carelessly refusing."

"Indeed, it's of no use, dear madame. I am
grieved to vex you — or anybody — but oh ! no, no,
indeed I cannot marry Monsieur Desjardins. Don't
be so angry with me ;" and Regina knelt down and
kissed Madame Saincere's hands.

"I am not angry," protested Madame Saincere,
very angrily, " but I am disappointed, and Paul will
be cruelly vexed with himself."

"What has M. Latour to do with the matter?"
asked Regina, and her eyes emitted an ominous
flash.

" Do with it ? Only that it was he who brought
Monsieur Desjardins here in the hope and expecta-
tion that you would know how to appreciate him.
Paul paid you a great compliment in thinking you
worthy of a man he esteems so highly. However,
there is no occasion for recriminations; circumstances
allow you more freedom of choice than is usual ; but,
my dear, allow me to remind you I am not likely to
be able to find you a husband."

Regina interrupted Madame Saincere. "I don't
wish any one to trouble themselves to do so." Here

"IT'S OF NO USE, MADAME." 95

the clear voice grew husky. "I have no one to
please but myself, none of my family cares what
becomes of me, and I would rather be a cook, or
sweep a crossing, or die" — here a long gasp, then in
a quivering whisper — "than marry just — any one."

"There is no occasion for all this passion and vio-
lence," replied Madame Saineere; "no one, least of
all either Paul or I, wish to put any compulsion on
your will. Pardon me, nevertheless, for saying once
more that I believe you are at this moment throwing
away your best chance of happiness: though, after
all, it is possible you would never understand such a
character as that of M. Desjardins. He is too sensi-
ble : his feelings are not sufficiently on the surface :
they do not explode in poetical tirades : nor is he six
feet high, with the head of a brigand."

Regina fancied, and fancied wrongly, there was
an allusion to her parents in this last observation.
She let go Madame Saincere's hands, rose from her
knees, stiffened all over, mentally and bodily, with
resentment. She said, abruptly' —

" My father was a good man, and made my mother
happy."

For an instant Madame Saineere, quite at fault,
looked at the girl in blank amazement. Then, per-
ceiving the possible interpretation of her last words
— for Xolopoeus had been tall and wild-looking — she
exclaimed —

" My dear girl, I was a thousand leagues from in-
tending any allusion to your parents. I loved your
mother dearly, Regina. I knew her from her cradle;

96 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

for her sake I received you ; for her sake, even more
than for your own, I desire your happiness. She was
a loving, gentle creature."

Regina answered in a voice made harsh by deep
emotion —

"I know I am hard and cold. I can't help it.
Since they died, no one has ever had a bit of heart
for me."

" Not I, Regina ?" and Madame Saincere tried to
take her hand.

" No, not even you," said Regina, stepping back.
" You often dislike me. I have felt it in your kiss."

The girl shuddered. The floodgates were open,
and out rushed the long pent-up waters of bitter-
ness.

" Your cook Hortense was kinder to me in one
week than you have been in all these yeai - s. All
that you have done for me has been from the charity
which would not even thrust a homeless dog from
your door. How often I could have begged you on
my knees only to care as much for me as for your
maid; to look at me as kindly as you did at her!
You are good, but you have never liked me. I am
born to the fate of Ishmael, my great progenitor. It
is not fair that I should suffer for what I did not do,
I can't help my Bohemian blood. If I were fair-
haired and blue eyed you would all love me. I will
go back to my father's people, far away, where I
shall never, never hear any of your names again."

As she said this she saw Paul Latour standing
gazing at her. Her eyes met his with a shock of an-

"IT'S OF NO USE, MADAME." 97

ger. She turned at bay on him, like some wounded
animal.

" I am much obliged to you, M. Latour, but I won't
marry M. Desjardins;" and out of the room she
rushed.

" She has lost her senses," said Madame Saincere.

" Poor little girl !" exclaimed Paul, and his eyes
were full of tears.

" Her wild blood is up. I am sure I do care for
her."

Paul shook his head.

"I am doubtful of that. Liking goes by favor;
and we cannot give affection because we ought. I
had not the slightest conception she was of such a
passionate nature. She has suffered, poor child."

" What can I do ? She asks for affection in one
breath and refuses it in another," replied Madame
Saincere, too uncomfortable to put the question in a
fair light. "I think- my actions have sufficiently
proved my good-will."

"They have proved your great benevolence. I
wish I dared ask Mademoiselle Kea^ina to forgive me
for my share in this disagreeable business."

" The best thing you can do is to go away ; and
do not come back this evening."

Madame Saincere went to Regina's door. It was
fastened.

" Better leave her to cool down," thought the
woman of many experiences. "By dinner-time she
will be ashamed of her outburst, and then I will give
her Desjardins' letter to read."

98 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

Having thus resolved, Madame Saincere put on
her bonnet and cloak and went out for a walk. All
her life she had found that air and exercise were in-
fallible restorers of the equilibrium of the mind. She ^

returned home in a far more indulgent mood toward,

/
the delinquent.

Though sincere and truthful, Regina was not
frank. On the contrary, her tendency was to shut
up all she felt within her own soul. As Madame
Saincere had anticipated, after the heat of her pas-
sion had evaporated, she felt humbled at having
allowed the sorrow of her heart to be seen. What
seemed to her protectress a mere girlish outbreak,
had been an emotion convulsing and rending Re-
gina's whole being. It was with surprise that Ma-
dame Saincere found her pale and feeble, like one
recovering from sharp illness rather than from a fit
of anger.

Madame Saincere was so complete a contrast in
character to her protegee that she could not com-
prehend so great a prostration for so small a cause.
But it is not by external causes that we can measure
emotion or determine on the amount of Buffering:.
What is a trifle to one, may shake another to the
core.

However exaggerated in feeling she might con-
sider Regina, Madame Saincere showed her a gen-
uine kindness that evening, which, coming in aid of
:na'» own regrets, established a better under-
standing between them for the future.

After dinner, Madame Saincere made Regina sit

7 O

"IT'S OF NO USE, MADAME." 99

in her own peculiar chair, placing a pillow beneath
her head. Regina made no resistance, only when
Madame Saincere onCe stooped over her, she held np

Iter face to be kissed as a repentant child might have
done.

'•Do yon think you are well enough to listen to
the little I have to add on the subject of this morn-
ing ?" asked Madame Saineere.

" I am so sorry I was so violent. I don't know
what made me so. I felt all over as if I had been
stung by wasps. I am not ill, only tired," and the
e) T elids, swollen by weeping, dropped over the weary
eyes.

" First of all I am going to read you a letter from
Monsieur Desjardins ; not with any intention of
trying to change your decision, but as some ex-
planation of why I was so disappointed by your
refusal."

It was indeed a letter that could only have been
written by one with a noble heart. The avowal of
his love for Regina was made in forcible but simple
language. As she read, Madame Saineere could see
that the girl's figure was agitated by nervous starts,
like those of a patient under a galvanic battery, and
at the conclusion two large tears rolled out of the
half-closed eyes.

In a voice that quivered, Regina said, " I think it
is very bad of me not to care for such a good man.
I am ready to beg every one's pardon. Oh ! why
can't I like him ?"

" Why not, indeed, you foolish child ?"

100 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

"It is not my fault; but, indeed, whenever he
came I always wished he would go away."

" Is he the only one who excites that flattering
wish ?"

" Yes, I believe so."

" Then that ends our discussion. Now, my dear,
go at once to bed."

CHAPTER X.

" Jeune fille au nom male et fier cornme ton co3ur."
Portrait par Andre Theuriet

Withtn - the next twelve months Madame Aubry
suddenly left Juvigny. Her husband's affairs re-
quired a journey to Russia; and, contrary to his
usual nonchalance with regard to his wife, he now
insisted that she should accompany him.

Common gossip said that his jealousy had at last
been awakened, but this was a mere surmise founded
on probabilities, for no human being could aver that
M. Aubry had ever complained of, or blamed
Madame Aubry.

She was gone, and from the moment of her de-
parture, the barometer of Madame Latour's hopes
rose as to Paul's marriage. It was amazinsr how
many charming girls with good dowries she discov-
ered ; and she enlisted so many pei*sons in her cause,
that Paul came at last to look on every invitation to
dinner or to soirees as so many traps to marry him.

Madame Saincei-e in vain counselled her sister to
give Paul time to recover possession of his feelings.
"Absence is a great ally — it throws a veil over re-
membrance."

Madame Latour wrote back — "He is four-and-

102 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

thirty ; every day that passes renders him a less eli-
gible parti. lie will put off and put off till I am
dead."

" But it is not honorable — not just" — replied Ma
dame Saincere, "that he should marry one woman
while his heart belongs to another."

" Marriage," returned 3Iadame Latour, " ought not
to be a love affair. I see around me plenty of happy
households; and, in most cases, the husband and
wife had not seen one another more than twice when
the contract was signed. The same interests, with
life in common, produGe an affection far more lasting
than what you sentimentalists call love."

Madame Latour came expressly to Paris, to in-
troduce her son to two lovely and faultless girls,
brought up according to the most approved rules,
who had never been out of their mother's sight since
they were five years old — girls who were prizes also
as to fortune.

" You ask an impossibility," said Paul. " I could
never care two straws either for your Alathilde or
Sophia. Surely you don't wish my misery, mother.
I might put up with the crying of children, and the
migraines of a woman I loved, but otherwise the
post of father of a family would kill me."

" Then I am to die, Paul, without ever having held
a child of yours on my knee."

" In the first place I might marry and never have
a child. Trust a little to the chapter of chances,
mother — to that hidden power which so often ar-
ranges or reverses the plans of mortals. To-mor-

"JEUNE FILLE AtJ NOM MALE." 103

row, even to-day, I may sec the creature destined to
make me a husband and you a grandmother."

Before the day ended Paul thought that his joke
might possibly become earnest. He was in his ate-
lier, in that listless mood into which all artists sink
when they have finished any work that has occupied
much time. Be it a book, or a picture, or a sym-
phony, the end is sighed for — the last touches are
given with feverish eagerness. Counsels that entail
the slightest further effort are listened to with irri-
tation — often received with anger: the sole desire
is to write finis; and then — oh ! inconstancy of man's
spirit— no sooner are the five letters traced, than,
instead of the joys of liberty, the artist, writer, or
composer sits down and takes a gloomy view of
things in general — of his own work in particular.
" The game had not been worth the trouble," solilo-
quized Paul; far better had he been satisfied to go
plodding daily to an office, and not fancied lie was
born to be anything superior to his fellows. "Well,
it did not much matter — this was probably the last
time he should trouble the public. His imagination
was exhausted — his nerve gone."

Paul was smoking a pipe of discontent when the
sound of the timbre in the ante-chamber announced
a visitor.

" Some fool come to favor me with his criticism,
or his stupider compliments," he said, laying down
his meerschaum, and calling out gruffly enough,
"Ertirez."

The handle of the door turned briskly, aud Paul

104 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

started to his feet, amazement flushing his face. A
girl certainly not above eighteen, bionda e grassotto,
stood in the doorway, her magnificent flaxen hair
and lily-fair skin in notable contrast to her black
eyes and black eyebrows. Her forehead was wide
and prominent, the mouth small, the chin slightly
projecting. The lower part of the face that of a
child, the upper that of a man and a thinker. The
eyes were full of power and inspiration. She came
forward to Paul with outstretched hand.

" _Z"have been so charmed — that's not the word —
so transported — by your last picture, that I could
not help coming to tell you so. We must be friends. "

Her tone and gesture were frank and brusque,
like those of a school-boy. Paul was puzzled how
to meet her advance. Had she been ten years older
he would have been quite at his ease ; but the speaker
was such a mere girl ! She, perhaps, guessed what
was passing in his mind, for she said —

" My duenna is in your anteroom, let us call her
in, and then I'll tell you who I am."

Paul hastened to introduce a respectable middle-
aged woman, evidently holding some office between
that of a governess and a lady's-maid.

"Sit down, Martha," said the young lady, in
English, " and make up your mind to be comfortable,
for I am going to stay here a long while."

" English ! that accounts for all," said Paul to
himself.

The girl, as if she had again read his thoughts,

"JEUNE FILLE AU NOM MALE." 105

burst into a charming laugh — a sort of musical ca-
denza, of which some women have the secret.

" Yes," she said in French, " I come from the land
of oddities; that is, I was born there — in Ireland, if
you please, not in England — but I remember nothing
about my birthplace. I came to France a baby.
My name is Aurora Dale. For my intimates, I am
Hubert. I am the only child of my father, who
is a scholar, the kindest and dearest of men, who
lets me have all my own way."

"I wonder what man of mortal mould could re-
fuse you anything?" exclaimed Paul.

" No compliments," she said : "it's my misfortune
to have a woman's form, but I have the soul of a
man, and you must treat me as one, or you cannot
be admitted into my circle."

" You ask an impossibility," said Paul, speaking
in downright earnest.

" Think of me, speak to me as Hubert — the youth
Hubert — or our acquaintance ends here."

" Having seen you, do you imagine I can submit
to be banished your presence ?"

" I will not be treated as a young lady, compli-
mented and made love to. Accept my terms or
avoid me. In the mean while you are going to show
me all your pictures — your own paintings I mean.
I want to see if there are any equal to the last ; how
divine it is !" and she sat down on the corner of a
divan and covered her eyes. " It comes before me
now, a poor, little, cold-stricken redbreast, and a

106 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

few fading flowers — nothing more ; and yet it trans-
pierces me as music sometimes does. Bristles and
pigments to move me so, and make my heart ready
to burst with melancholy ! I should like to find
out how, when divine thoughts arise in a man's
mind, some turn into music, others into pictures,
and others into poetry, more beautiful than all, and
why great beauty in any shape makes us ready to
weep."

She looked at him with great, moist eyes, the lips
and nostrils quivering with excitement. Paul was
quite at fault ; it was delightful to be thus praised ;
but his spirit did not rise to the level of hers. It
was she who was the discoverer in his picture of
worlds unknown to him. " I am often sad," she
went on, " becaiise I cannot understand things. I
am always longing — longing. Don't laugh at me."

"Far from it," said Paul. " Once I too sought to
reach the Unknown ; but little by little I have been
driven back to reality. As for our ideas, my belief
is, that none of us can trace our inspirations to their
source. Life is a network of riddles, Mademoiselle
Aurora."

" Hubert, or I vanish forever. Heigho ! let's be
done with sentiment, and be a little mad. Tell Hu-
bert about your student's life, or show me your
sketch-books : I shall learn more about you from
them than from anything you will venture to say.
All men lie when they talk of themselves."

" And women, are they more truthful ?" he asked,
laughing, as he brought her half-a-dozen portfolios.

"JEUNE FILLE AU NOM MALE." 107

"Poor things! how can you wonder :ii anything
they do when you know how men treat them ? I
have sworn by the Styx to defy Nature : to be manly
and in all things true to my own soul." She opened
one of the portfolios. " Now, if you were a woman,
you would annihilate that date of fifteen years ago,
and do so only because men ridicule age in women.
How old were you then V"

" Nearly twenty."

"So you have reached the half-way of life; you
have seen more than you are likely to see in the fu-
ture. Do you remember how you felt at twenty?
Is it different with you now ?"

" Very."

" Then it is true that we are always becoming
something else."

" Do you study Philosophy with your father ?"

"No; by myself. 'All labor,' he says, 'that is
good for anything must be done alone.' "

" And you are really only — "

" Eighteen my last birthday."

" And you are not a fairy ?"

She stamped her little foot impatiently. " Why
can't you treat me as an equal ?"

" Because I feel that you are my superior."

" Nonsense ! You woidd scarcely say that to the
greatest man breathing. This must be the picture
of one of your first loves; it's the same face all
through the portfolio. What's become of her ?"

" She is married, is a mother, and lives in Rus-
sia."

108 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

All exact, but what a different impression Paul
managed to convey from the truth !

"She is whimsical-looking rather than pretty ; her
nose is en trompette. Did you care much for her ?"

" Very much."

■f

" And you have survived and thrived ?"

"It's not so easy to die of grief."

" Oh ! I suppose she is nearly an old lady now ?"

" One year younger than I am."

" That's a fine head, that chalk one in the frame
opposite. I like the face better than that of your
first love. This one gives the idea of an Arab horse
with a club. Another first love is it ?"

" No ; not at all. The original is scarcely older
now than yourself. She is a ward of an aunt of
mine, and is still at school."

" Unhappy girl ! That's what gives her the look
of having a heavy bit between her teeth."

" Though she looks something!: wild, she is in fact
a gentle, good little girl."

" A gentle, good little girl !" repeated Hubert, in
a tone of contempt. " She is a Judith, a Zenobia.
What's her name ?"

" Regina "

" There — I was sure of it ; you were trying to
mystify me, but you couldn't."

" Indeed, she is simply Mademoiselle Regina No-
lopoeus."

"Really and truly? Not even a Roumanian
princess."

" On my honor, no."

"JEUNE FILLE AU NOM MALE." 109

"Her face captivates me. And you don't adore
her ?"

" Not the least in the world."

" Are you a man of stone ?"

" No. I would give a great deal to take your
likeness."

" You may have it for nothing, my friend. I shall
be taken in a boy's cap — only my head — and you
must hang it by Regina, and call us, I promessi
sposi. There is an idea for you. Shall I come on
Monday ?"

" If Mr. Dale will permit you."

" Oh ! my father always allows what I choose to
do; dear father .... There's my card, come and
dine with us on Saturday ; it's our day for receiving,
and I'll introduce you to him. If you and he like
one another, your name shall be put on our Saturday
list."

Darkness seemed to fall on the atelier when Au-
rora left it.

Paul took his hat and went out, without any
settled purpose, but to get air enough to breathe.

One day so constantly resembles another that it
is an event as rare as charming when a man, who
has reached the age of five-and-thirty, meets an indi-
vidual who wakes an echo of delight in his soul, stirs
his mind, and impels it to move even a step forward.
Paul, after this visit of Aurora's, felt as if his spirit
had burst some barrier. He was walking along with
a swift step, his thoughts in a whirl, trying to gather
themselves into form, as sand will do when set in

110 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

motion, by harmonious chords on the sounding-board
of a piano, when his arm was seized from behind.

" The man of all others I want," exclaimed a fa-
miliar voice, with a strong German accent. " Come
with me, Baul, I have scent of a Chardin, an un-
doubted original, they say. We shall see, it is not
easy to throw dust in Ernst Burgrnuller's eyes."

Ernst, complacent reader, is perhaps the most
astute of modern connoisseurs of pictures. The
French school of the 18th century has no secrets
for him. He can tell you how many Prudhons are
to be found in the galleries of Paris ; he is as famil-
iar with a Coypel as with his own hand-writing ;. and
he distinguishes at a glance a true from a spurious
Chardin. Once on a time he wooed the muse of
poetry on his own account, but the courtship was
not successful. Burgmuller is tall, thin, with long
arms and legs, light-haired, rosy-faced, a nose a la
Kalmuck, a projecting forehead, small, lively, spark-
ling blue eyes.

Passing his arm within Paul's, the German turned
in the direction of the Boulevard des Italiens. There
were two men in Burgmuller — the clever critic, and
the fop. He was a singular combination of ingenu-
ousness and of experience — of materialist and spirit-
ualist. As the two friends were going along the Rue
de Helder, they met a very pretty woman. Ernst
stopped in his learned dissertation on Chardin, to
say in a stage whisper : " Do you observe her — an
angel — the Duchesse de Belay (all the heroines of
Ernst's adventures are duchesses and comtesses)

" JEUNE FILLE AU NOM MALE." Ill

Last year 1 was at her chateau — clCai et'e ein ph
amoareux cVeUe."

" Comment! mauvais sujet — only last year — and
it is at an end ?" said Paul, smiling. Ernst's friends
have no faith in his conquests, but it amuses them
to hear him boast.

" Pray have you ever met among your goddesses
a Miss Aurora Dale ?"

" Aurora ! Hubert ! mais, mon cher, cKai et'e —
je sicis pocoup amoureux de la bella Aurora. She
is a Muse — a Fairy. You should see her when she
is listening to a symphony of Beethoven or Men-
delssohn. She inhales the music through every pore
of her divine body — her lips part with an angel's
smile — her eyes — ach ! mein lieber Gott — they be-
come profound and luminous as the heaven of a mid-
summer night. Know Aurora ! why, I adore her,"
and the speaker sighed and colored.* — CK'ai tetang
le cceur ein betit chartin de Marie — ein Meines Ma-
riengarten comme nous tisons nous autres Allemands.
Where have you seen my Aurora ?"

" She came to my atelier to-day, to compliment me
on the last picture I exhibited."

" That is Aurora, altogether ; but do not mistake,
my dear Baul. She is very wise and good, and un-
derstands the self-government of her country folks.
Her heart has never yet spoken — eh, mon Tieu —
when it does ! ! !"

* J'ai dedans mon cceur un petit jardin de Marie comme
nous disons nous autres Allemands.

112 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

"Are you one of the Saturday list," asked Paul.

" Without doubt. We will go together if you
please. Ah ! she is a Muse — a Fairy .... but this
is where we are to find the Chardin."

CHAPTER XI.

LIONS.

Every house reveals something of the sph-it of
those who dwell in it. Our personality impresses
itself on everything that habitually surrounds us.

The salon into which Paul was ushered on the
Saturday afternoon, seemed to him something be-
tween an atelier, a bric-a-brac shop, and a green-
house.

There was a confusion, but a graceful confusion
of pictures, articles of virtu, and flowers and plants.

The young lady of the house, at that instant,
looked out of keeping with her framing. She was
dressed most prosaically in the very height of the
last fashion, while, to be in harmony with her sur-
roundings, she ought to have been habited like
some sylvan nymph.

At the moment of Paul's entrance she was stand-
ing by a marble basin, placed in a bay window,
opening into a portico, from which you descended
by a broad flight of steps into the garden. The
basin had been picked up by Mr. Dale at Rome ; it
was discolored and full of cracks, but exquisite in
form. It had, properly speaking, no supporting
column. A youth, sitting on a step, held it up with
outstretched arms. It was an article of faith with

114 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

father and daughter that the font was antique and
unique.

Aurora, in her Magazine de Mode dress, held a
common teacup in her hand, filled with half-boiled
rice. She gave Paul and Ernst a nod and a smile ;
then blowing a tiny silver whistle, she exclaimed,
" See how well they hear !" She spoke in a tone of
rapture that was exaggerated (if you please), as
some three or four gold-fish rose to the surface of
the water in the basin.

" The very stones would move at your call," said
Ernst.

" That's a piece of the commonest blarney," re-
plied Aurora. " I am not glad because the fish
came to my whistle. I am glad because they hear.
Nature is too full of harmony for me to believe that
any species of living creatures is created deaf, or
dumb, or blind."

" You ought to send away your pets, Aurora,"
said a grave, sweet voice.

It came from a gentleman with a head which might
have suited a Jupiter Clemens. Mr. Dale was as
handsome for a man as his daughter for a woman,
with the additional charm of repose of manner.

" Why, father ?"

" Because in keeping them here you make them
die gradually of starvation. All gold-fish in globes
or small basins suffer that terrible death."

" Where's their native place, father ?"

" China, my dear."

" People manage to bring silkwonns from thence,

LIONS. 115

and I'll manage to send back ray beauties. To-
morrow they shall depart for their native land,"
said Aurora, throwing away her whistle.

" Better send them to the ponds in the Park," re-
turned her father.

" It's horrible to think they are perhaps in pain
at this moment," went on Aurora, thrusting her
fingers through the elaborate arrangement of her
hair with a boy's gesture.

The disarray of her head gave her a new charm.
Every eye of the half-dozen men in the room rested
on her with admiration.

Aurora was neither a coquette nor vain. You
needed to be in her company only a quarter of an
hour to find that out. But those who knew her
best uttered many a " God knows !" and shook
their heads when they spoke of Aurora's future.
She will be something — but what ? There is ever
perilous stuff in a gifted woman.

She was the only woman at dinner, yet she was
as unembarrassed as a child. The guests were all
men of some artistic value. Besides Paul and
Btirgmuller, there was Valton, the fashionable com-
poser of songs, a short, stout man, with a rubicund
face, intelligent eyes, and thick lips.

" What do you think of our Orpheus ?" whispered
Aurora to Paul, whom, as the stranger, she had called
to sit by her.

" He looks a good fellow — something of a gas-
tronome."

"He is one of the delights of my life," said the

116 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

young hostess. " Always good-humored ; always
obliging ; always in tune with every one. If you
mean to be friends with me, you must be friends
with Valton. It's an immense compliment his com-
ing here every Saturday. He is so run after that he
never dines or breakfasts at home. I am perfectly
indifferent to what we have for dinner any other day,
but I always ask for the bill of fare on Saturday
morning; I am so afraid of losing him."

" And all for the sake of his voice ?" said Paul.

" His voice ? no, it is cracked ; but for his genius.
He is a real genius. No one who was not a genius
could do what he does. Every morning he composes
a song — words and all. Jumps out of bed at ten
precisely — runs to his piano — plays the song that he
has in his head — writes it down, and then consults
his almanac to see with what sublimity or excellency
he is to breakfast and dine that day. He is so
good ; always ready to sing or play at whist, dance,
walk. Never contradicts. Oh ! he is the best of
men !"

Paul looked at her, supposing her to be joking ;
but he saw she was thoroughly in earnest.

" Is it necessary to resemble M. Valton, to please
you ?"

" Nature made him, and then broke the mould,"
answered Aurora, gravely. " I shall never find an-
other Valton ; and one of these days I shall lose him.
Alas, alas ! he is sure to have an apoplexy !"

Paul laughed.

"Don't laugh," she said, stamping her foot. "I

LIONS. 117

am serious. I shall be wretched if he dies ; and he
will eat so much. It's the only bit of obstinacy in

him."

]\Ir. Dale swallowed his dinner in silence. He did
not appear to consider the men at his table as his
guests; he left them to Aurora. Twice his eyes
turned toward and rested on Paul. After a third
investigating glance, he asked his neighbor, Ernst,
""Who the stranger was?" Hearing that it was
Latour de la Mothe, he sent the servant round to
invite Paul to join him in a glass of champagne. It
was rare that Aurora hit on any one suited to her
father's refined taste. Mr. Dale was fastidious in
everything — most so in art. Paul ranked high in his
estimation as a painter.

After dinner the whole party went into the gar-
den to enjoy the freshness of the evening. The men
all took their cigars, and for a moment Paul feared
and expected to see Aurora do the same. She was
satisfied, however, with inhaling the odor, declaring
it was as pleasant to her as the perfume of roses.

Mr. Dale passed his arm through one of Paul's,
and leading him into one of the more retired walks,
began a dissertation on modern painting, giving the
preference, as such a man was sure to do, to the an-
cient masters. In spite of his companion's treasures
of knowledge, and undoubted good taste, Paul's at-
tention wandered to the strange girl with the free
step of a nymph, flitting across their path every now
and then, and whom lie heard talking with great an-
imation to a tall, thin, pale, wild-eyed, young man

118 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

•with long dishevelled locks flowing over his shoul-
ders.

At the close of one of Mr. Dale's most erudite
periods, Paul inquired the name of the gentleman
who was giving his arm to Mademoiselle Dale.

" He bears a great name," said Mr. Dale. " That
is Georges Tully de la Belusson. Eccentric, but
talented, he is as devoted to chivalry as ever was
Don Quixote, and has gained among his intimates
the nickname of the ' Don.' He is a poet. Aurora
admires his poetry. It is rather too mystical for
me. Tully is a man born out of time ; he belongs
to the middle a2.es. He has a horror of the modern
spirit of democracy, and looks on equality as a de-
gradation."

" His ' Ode to the Pourgeois' (Bourgeois) is the best
thing he has ever written," said Ernst, who, tired of
being overlooked by Aurora, had come to Paul's
side. " Come, Tully, recite to us your famous im-
precation, " Fous mourrez, gorgez (Por et clout soullez
depone."

A burst of laughter saluted the quotation, and the
accent of the quoter.

"Monsieur Biirgniulleer," said Georges Tully,
"when you wish to excite merriment, let me beg
you to do so at the expense of some other poetry
than mine."

" Dear Monsieur Valton, give us some harmony
to cure Ernst's discord." And, so saying, Aurora
led the way up the steps.

Valton sang with a taste and a spirit that made

LIONS. 119

Paul, the only stranger to his singing, forget his
cracked voice. Xo one who ever heard Valton sing
" Le Ronhomme jaclis" or " Les £tccherons" will
ever forget his singing.

After Valton had finished, there was a general pe-
tition to Aurora that she would sing.

" I am not in the mood. I am stupid. I have
forgotten all about music. What is it ? Can any
one explain? No, for it is of heaven, and we are
of earth — earthy." And she ran through the win-
dow back into the garden.

"Let her alone ein pb {tin peu)," said Ernst ; "it
is some inspiration that is struggling in her soul.
I will implore Tully to recite something for us.
That will reconcile him to me."

The good-natured German went to the Don and
said —

"My very dear M. Tully, here is an opportunity
to be kind; give us ce pauvre Hamlet's monologue."

Monsieur Tully frowned on the speaker, and Paul
thought he was about to refuse ; buJL the next in-
stant the Don was on his feet.

He was really terrific, and so rapt were his lis-
teners in his words that they did not perceive Au-
rora re-enter the room. At his last words she sat
down to the piano, and in tones both passionate and
brusque, broke into a wild ditty that had in it the
savor of the desert ; it might have suited Ophelia
had Ophelia been an Aurora. She carried every one
present away into the regions of passion and fancy ;
keeping them there as long as she pleased ; they

120 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

were intoxicated alike by her look and her voice.
All at once she broke the spell, by striking a series
of discords, ending in a charge d 'atelier.

All Mr. Dale's guests returned to Paris together.
To Paul's . enthusiastic admiration of Aurora, the
Don replied gloomily, " She is a goddess, and not a
woman : The love of a mere man will never find ac-
ceptance with her."

CHAPTER XII.

DEFINITIONS.

Paul was like one in the first stage of intoxica-
tion — fast losing sight of reality. He had returned
from Versailles madly in love with Aurora. She
was the first woman who had thoroughly dethroned
Madame Aubry. Sunday was interminably long to
him, though the evening was pleasant enough, as
Madame Saincere encouraged him to speak of his
new idol. As for Regina, who was sitting by, she
counted for nothing.

" You can form no idea of this English or Irish
girl from description," said Paul. "She lost her
mother \>"aen she was only ten years old, and since
then she has been her own mistress. Her father
left the bridle loose on her neck, and she has taken
advantage of her liberty to range in any pasture
she pleased. She haunts painters' studios, is ac-
quainted with most of the celebrities of Paris, reads
Hegel, knows German, Italian, Sanscrit ; is an in-
spired musician, has the head of a cherub, and the
intellect of a man of genius ; in short, she is more
like what we imagine a goddess to be than a wo-
man of flesh and blood.

" Ah ! poor child, what will be her fate !" said
Madame Saincere. " She is evidently not fitted to

122 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

be a wife and mother — for the ordinary conditions
of humanity."

"And why not?" asked Paul, sharply.

" You might as well expect a bird to creej) ; it is
contrary to her nature. No, no, Paul ! such as this
Aurora are born to adorn a pedestal, not to sit ttte-
d-tete at the fireside with a husband, or to hush a
teething child."

" I should have expected such observations from
my mother, who has a prejudice against artistic
tastes in man or woman, but not from you."

" Think me as commonplace as you will, Paul, but
I assure you from experience that an artist woman
is rarely happy herself, or gives happiness. Per-
haps it is an instinct of the dangers attending any
of our sex, who, by special gifts, is forced out of
the ordinary routine of life, which makes us look
askance at a woman of genius4br the wife of a son
or brother."

"In short, you patronize pot-au-feu wives."

" Yes, I do. No man likes to find kimsejf thrown
in the shade by his wife. I have known of quarrels
and even of separations arising between persons
once fondly attached, and all for jealousy of the
world's applause."

" Very 2)Oor specimens of human nature they mu<t
have been been," replied Paul, dryly.

" Human nature is made up of grandeur and mean-
ness."

" Good-night, aunt. I never yet met the woman
who did not decry superiority in another woman."

DEFINITIONS. 123

He went away, forgetful even of his usual " Bon
soir, Mademoiselle Regina."

"My dear," said Madame Saincere to her prote-
gee, "you may thank God that he has not given
you extraordinary talents. Pot-au-feu wives, as
Paul sneeringly calls domestic women, are the happy
women. They sit at home, and live, not in them-
selves, but in their husbands. Nothing touches me
more than when I see some simple little woman fall-
ing down in spirit before her husband. I never be-
lieve so heartily in the goodness of Providence as
when I hear one of these pot-au-feu wives puffing
her husband and trying to make me share her faith
that he is the best and cleverest of men. I hope to
hear you do so one of these days, Regina."

The silent girl received her protectress's kiss, and
then shut herself into her own little room, so glad of
the solitude. From the impatience with which she
unfastened that wonderful mass of hair coiled round
her head, she seemed to accuse it as the cause of
the aching of her temples. She stared at herself in
the glass Math that storm-cloud of tresses surround-
ing her face. The varnish given by education and
the civilization of Paris had vanished. She looked
the gipsy — the undoubted daughter of a zingaro
father. She sat contemplating herself with piercing
eyes; pride dilating her nostrils — wild grief drag-
ging downward her red lips.

How her child's bosom was wrung, beaten, torn,
by jealousy ! How she wept over her dark skin and
her black hair ! — the origin, as she thought, of all her

124 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

evil. She was so lonely in the world. She longed
so for a mother's heart to lean on. Madame Sain-
cere praised her for being inferior — a mother would
not have done so.

" Ah ! mother, mother ! to have given her life and
then left her alone."

The next morning the maid found her sleeping in
her chair, the candle burned out.

What a struggle she had to be patient with the
inquisitive Annette, who wanted to know why and
wherefore Mademoiselle had not slept in her bed !

Annette stood with one arm akimbo; her right
hand busy with a toothpick.

" Mademoiselle must be ill, or unhappy ?"

She was looking very pale when she went to bed.
Annette had noticed this, though Madame Saincere
had not.

" I am neither ill, nor unhappy, Annette. I was
very tired and I fell asleep.the moment I was alone."

"Let me feel your pulse."

Regina jumped up, ran to the wash-hand table and
plunged her face into a basin of cold water.

" Is that a sick face ?" turning it all rosy to An-
nette.

" Nbm (Pun nom — if you had always that color
you would be the most beautiful girl in Paris."

" Ah ! but I can't have it, nor a fair skin, and I
shall always be what I am."

Annette told Madame Saincere that Regina was
not welL

DEFINITIONS. 125

To Madame Saincere's questions Regina replied,
* I am as well as ever I was in my life."

" How came you not to go to bed ?"

" I sat down for an instant and stupidly fell asleep.
It has done me no harm, dear madame."

When Regina returned a fortnight after to the
Hue Blanche, she heard that Madame Latour w%s in
Paris, staying with Paul.

Madame Latour came in the afternoon, and it was
easy to read trouble in her face. The sisters spoke
to one another in a low voice. Regina took a book,
went to the furthest corner of the room, and tried to
read; but, in spite of herself, she overheard that the
two ladies were talking of Aurora and Paul. It
seemed that the Irish girl was at that very hour at
the atelier, and that Madame Latour was convinced
that she was about to endure the misfortune of a
wish granted— that it was pretty certain she should
have a Protestant for a daughter-indaw.

There was a noise in Regina's ears sounding as
loud as thunder, and then she became aware that
Madame Latour was asking her if she would go out
on a shopping expedition.

Regina said yes, and tried to lay aside her book,
but it fell from her hands.

" You are not looking as you did at Juvigny," ob-
served Madame Latour; and then Madame Sain-
cere for the first time perceived that Regina was
thin and pale.

" But you are quite well ?"

126 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

"Perfectly well, madame," and Regina left the
salon to put on her bonnet and cloak.

" She looks very delicate — too delicate," said Ma-
dame Latour.

" I shall write to Dr. M to come here this even-
ing. She is not strong ; her mother died young. I'll
have her chest examined. Poor little quiet mouse, I
should not like anything to happen to her."

As Madame Latour and Regina went out of the
porte cocMre of Madame Saincere's house, an elderly
woman with a young girl were passing. The latter
turned and stared at Regina" with a pleasant admir-
ing look of curiosity. Regina said, " That must be
Mademoiselle Aurora."

Madame Latour uttered a low groan. " She looks
like an actress. Oh, my poor Paul !"

In the evening in walked Dr. M , carrying

something tied up in a colored silk handkerchief.
He placed his bundle carefully on the table in the
middle of the room, shook hands with Madame
Saincere, bowed to Madame Latour and Regina,
then, seating himself, indulged in a large pinch of
snuff.

Dr. M was a small, thin, dark man, just the

man to be passed over in a crowd, if he would have
consented to be so. But there was a buoyancy in
his talent which always brought him into sight. Con-
sidering he was a thinker, he had a wonderful fluen-
cy of language ; he talked, and never was stopped
by any conjecture that others might like to have
their turn. The world was full of agreeable people

DEFINITIONS. 127

to liim, but the world did not return the compliment ;
it called him, tant soit peu, a bore.

Madame Saincere was anions? the few who could
occasionally transform the doctor into a listener, but
even when he talked longest, she never tired of his
conversation. The explanation was, that she had an
extraordinary curiosity as to all matters connected
with life and death, and she liked the doctor to tell
her of nerves and ganglions, and other mysteries of
the body.

If those in health were alarmed at seeing Dr.

M t:ike a preparatory pinch of snuff", the ailing

declared him to be perfect; by the sick-bed he became
as it were the student — the learner, hearkening while
the patient taught him the symptoms of the disease.
Even while just now administering an extra dose to
his nose, his eyes were examining Regina's face and
figure. The silent scrutiny over, he laid his hand on
the package in the silk handkerchief.

" I have brought you a rarity — something that will
delight you ;" and, as he spoke, he withdrew the cov-
ering.

The ladies started as he gave to view two large
skulls. He first took up one, and then the other,
handling them with delight.

" You have no idea, have you, Mademoiselle, that
you are looking on the skulls of relations — of distant
cousins ? Do you see this ?" and he pointed out the
intermaxillary bone. " All animals but man have it
horizontal ; well, you see that here it is similar to
yours," touching her delicate cheek and tracing the

128 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

bone with his finger. " Very little, to be sure, of
your ancestors in you or these two ladies," he
added.

" But, sir, — sir !" exclaimed Madame Latour, " you
are not surely one of those who set aside the Bible
history of creation ?"

" Creation here, creation there ! Why, Madame,
creation is going on now just as it did in the begin-
ing, whenever that was."

The doctor was a bit of a wag, and having found
an auditor not conversant with new theories, he re-
solved to improve his opportunity. He began with his
vesicle and his sea-weed, and came down link by link
to the ape. " And now here are my two fingers,
the index and the medium ; well, they happen to be
peculiarly perfect of their kind — ha, they meet, and
produce a thumb superior to themselves — ha, the
thumb looks about and finds another thumb, and de-
velops another superiority ; and so on, and on, till
we arrive at the first man."

Madame Latour's face more than recompensed the
doctor's trouble. "And speech, sir, how did the
thumbs produce that ?"

"Ah," he answered with calm dignity, "we are
mighty proud; man monopolizes the privilege of
speech, but animals speak, Madame. Every bow-
wow-wow is a phrase; we don't understand their ar-
ticulation more than they do ours, but they undeni-
ably communicate by means of voice with one an-
other. Stay, I will give you an example: — I was
paying a medical visit one morning this spring, when

DEFINITIONS. 129

the mother of the child I was attending called my
attention to two sparrows on an opposite wall, teach-
ing their young to fly. The window of the room we
were in was open, and one of the fledglings flew in ;
my little patient began a chase, and when he had
caught the blunderer, I pointed out to the lady and
her child the distress of the parent birds — their pier-
cing cries spoke as clearly to me as any words could
have done. The poor captive was put outside the
window ; I wish you could have heard the tones with
which the old birds welcomed back their lost one,
tones as different from those of the anguish of the in-
stant before, as any of us could find to express a
change of feeling. Mademoiselle Rachel herself
could have found none more touching:." The doctor's
eyes were full of tears.

" But that is not a proof of speech, sir."

" Not of our way of speaking, I allow. But did
you ever hear a newly-caught savage speak ? and
would his speech appear more human to you than
the yelping of your pug dog ? See here, Mademoi-
selle Regina : this skull of the female gorilla is far
more intellectual than that of the male — something-
in favor of women. Madame Gorilla is less bestial
than her mate — refined by her maternity, I conjec-
ture. There has been great selection in your case,"
he added, with a sudden perception of her beauty.
" But you are too thin. What's wrong ? No cough ?"

"No, sir."

" Sleep well ?"

" Oil yes."

130 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

" Good appetite ?"

"Excellent."

" Ha !" He took her hand. " H'm ! rather hot
pulse a little irregular. Change of air and scene for
her ; that's all that's necessary ; and she'll be as
blooming as a rose."

CHAPTER XIII.

CAPRICES AND DREAMS.

Saturday had come round again, and Paul set off
for Versailles with an eagerness that belonged to the
days before he had ever left Juvigny — to those early
days when he would have thought it impossible any
woman save Adeline could ever accelerate the beat
of his heart.

Aurora had given him two sittings, and then had
neglected to come on the days she had appointed.
Paul had felt aggrieved, and had taken his seat in
the railway carriage, some anger mingling with his
eagerness. He prepared several little ironical com-
pliments for the fair inconstant.

As he walked from the station to Mr. Dale's house,
it was wonderful how his irritability subsided. The
atmosphere (it was one of the last days of Septem-
ber) was delicious : great lazy clouds veiled the blue
of the sky, and every now and then there was a
slight motion in the air, a touch of sharpness that
braced his nerves and quickened his step. The
poplars bordering the way had leaves of pale gold,
while the buildings in the far perspective were of
a deep bluish-gray. The eye of the painter revelled
in this harmonious combination. " Ah ! how cun-
ningly nature works !" thought he. " We are always
beaten by her."

132 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

The walk had done what a soft answer does to the
angry. His whole being was in excellent tune when

he rang the bell of No. 119, Rue , his fancy full

of the pleasantest images.

He passed his fingers through the waves of his
hah", and entered the salon with a smile.

Aurora was there alone, dressed all in white, as
lovely as any fabled nymph. Thought travels fast,
and Paul, as he approached her, said to himself,
" Little coquette ! she neglects me only to make
more sure of attracting me." The clever man never
doubted that she had dressed herself so artistically
expiessly for him. This persuasion gave boldness
to his eyes and self-satisfaction to his smile. He
might, had be been less occupied with himself, have
observed an expression of astonishment steal into
Aurora's face as he came toward her. Spread out
before her was a lai-ge sheet of the common brown
paper used for herbariums. He leaned down over
her in a very lover-like manner, and said —

" I did not know you were a botanist. What a
universal woman you are !"

" I don't know the first syllable of botany. I am
only admiring and wondering. Monsieur Saint
Leon, the new poet, you know, has been so good as
to bring me some of his dried flowers, gathered in
his last tour."

While she was yet speaking, a young man ran up
the steps from the garden, holding in his hand a
large tuft of some plant.

The moment the painter saw M. Antonin St.

OAPBICES AND DREAMS. 133

Leon, he perceived a possibility of Aurora not hav-
ing dressed for M. Paul Latour.

"This is the IAnwria Cyrribala/ria" said the new-
comer, in a voice neither smooth nor musical, but
which had tones in it that acted pleasantly on your
nerves, as does the subtle perfume of aromatic moun-
tain-herbs, lie was not nearly so handsome as Paul,
but as the poet sings, "La beaute n'est pas toute
aux lignes clu visage ."" there was the same charm in
M. Antonin's face as in his voice : in a word he was
like what girls imagine a poet to be.

Aurora named the two gentlemen to one another,
but there was no radiation of sympathy between
them. Paul sat down a little distance from his host-
ess, and drawing an album toward him, seemed to
be examining the photographs it contained.

"There is plenty of it at your very door," went
on M. Antonin, alluding to the plant he had brought
in. " Enough to suspend in half-a-dozen baskets."

" What a dear little flower !" exclaimed Aurora,
enthusiastic about the flower, because pleased with
the finder of it.

" Look here," said the poet, and the two heads
approached perilously near — so near that one of Au-
rora's long golden curls fluttered over M. Antonin's
peaked beard. Paul saw the young man give a
start as though he had received an electric shock,
and his head went quite down to the table. He was
short-sighted, probably. "Here's the reason of its
being called Cymbalaria ; the bud is in the shape
of a boat."

134 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

" Oh ! so it is. How pretty ! What a dear fairy-
barque !" How describe that caressing sound which
a woman's voice assumes when her heart suddenly
feels a new and unknown sympathy. A succession
of exclamations followed in an harmonic scale.
" Flowers are the only things we can look at with
pleasure when they are dead," she said, turning over
the leaves of the herbarium. "This ivory-hued,
graceful Pamassia Palustris makes me think of a
young girl dead. Wouldn't that do as a subject
for a poem ? Write one, will you ?" and her eyes
turned to M. Antonin with a strange anxious ex-
pression.

The silence that ensued made Paul look up. M.
St. Leon was a pale man, but he had certainly be-
come paler.

"Xe diner est servi" said old Baptiste's voice,
very djyropos, for the conversation was taking a sen-
timental turn, very embarrassing when there are
three present.

That evening Aurora was in one of her maddest
moods. She launched the most piquant words right
and left, sacrificing even Valton pitilessly. She
called St. Leon' " le petit dernier" was satirical, even
a little ill-natured to him. She sang with a passion
that bordered on frenzy. At eleven o'clock, when
the gentlemen were about to take leave, nothing
would satisfy her but that instead of going away
they should accompany her to the Bois de Satory.

"M. St. Leon must go and adore her patroness,
Madonna Luna — they must go and give themselves

CAPRICES AND DREAMS. 135

to Nature, let her take hold of their hearts, and make
them forget this periwig world."

Valton whispered to her —

" My dear young lady, you cannot go alone w T ith
us men."

" Why not ? won't you do as well as la vieille
vipere ? — meaning Marthe. " Call her then, and light
your cigars; they will give fire to the conversa-.
tion. I am going to tell le petit dernier that his
verses creak like new shoes. You shake your head
pitifully, in the fashion of the buried or unburied
majesty of Denmark."

One quarter of an hour Aurora was talking ti-ans-
cendentalisms — the next,- slang. She took off her
straw hat, filled it with wild-flowers, told St. Leon
he must play Bottom to her Titania, and put a gar-
land round his hat. Valton must sing. He did so ;
giving with all his own magic "I? Amour Ma-
temel."

" Beautiful, my dear friend, if it were true. The
only descending of maternal love I ever knew, was
in blows on my head and shoulders," said Aurora.

It was three o'clock before they got Aurora home
again. Mr. Dale was at the window watching for
her retui-n. That was the only sign he gave of
fatherly anxiety.

" You must all of you come in," said Aurora.

" We have one spare room — St. Leon's piteous
face beo-s for it — there are five sofas in the salon for
the rest of you ; and you shall have some hot coflee
before you go away. Now isn't Marthe's face exas-

136 A PSYCHE OP TO-DAY.

perating ? Where's the hardship of a walk by moon-
light ?"

" Madame Marthe is not eighteen," observed St,
Leon.

" Is that my fault ?" she asked petulantly.

" What thorn has pricked our beautiful Aurora ?"
said Valton to Paul, as they lay on opposite sofas.
" I never saw her in such a mood as this of to-day."

" My good friend, I am too sleepy to care for any
goddess, but she of night."

The following day being Sunday, Paul, of course,
dined in the Rue Blanche. That day week his
aunt's drawing-room had appeared to him dull —
oppressively dull. It produced now quite a different
effect. Something like a refuge after a day of com-
bat.

Every object was a familiar one. For years Ma-
dame Saincere had received him, sitting in her pe-
culiar chair, with the same cordial smile and words
of welcome. Nothing in the long-run pleasanter
than the certainty of finding people as you left them.

Regina was ensconced in the same corner, by a
window, where he had been accustomned to see her
for more Sundays than he coulcl easily count up.
She was half hidden by a curtain, busy, as usual,
with a book.

Madame Saincere naturally questioned Paul about
the visit of the day before. "And the charming
Aurora — was she as charming as ever ?"

CAPRICES AND DREAMS. 137

"Lovely as a goddess, and capricious as Puck,"
he answered.

J lis eyes wandered to the quiet girl in the back-
ground. She was undoubtedly as beautiful as Au-
rora, though not so brilliant.

Presently Madame Saincere begged Regina to
inquire if the evening newspaper had come. As
Regina crossed the salon Paul was struck by her
manner of moving : it was slow, undulating. The
expression of her face was grave, even to sadness.

While she was out of the room Paul said —

"I never expected Mademoiselle Regina to grow
up graceful."

"She is not well, and that has softened her in
every way," answered Madame Saincere. "Dr.

M says she ought to have change of air and

scene : it must be dull for her at Passy. And so,
as I must go somewhere for the next six weeks, I
shall take her to the seaside."

" When do you go ?"

" In the course of next week."

" And where ?"

"That's the question. Boulogne, Dieppe, Trou-
ville, are all too crowded."

" Try St. Valery," said Paul.

" That's not a bad idea."

Paul was peculiarly agreeable that day at dinner.
He described with so much spirit the humors of Mr.
Dale's guests, that Regina laughed merrily more
than onee — the first time that Paul had ever heard
that pretty laugh, ending with a sort of little sigh.

138 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

"Does Mademoiselle Aurora draw as well as she
sings?" It was so wonderful that Regina should
speak to Paul, except to answer him, that this ques-
tion, suddenly put, astonished him.

"Probably, for there's nothing, I believe, she
could not do if she tried."

"The society about her will utterly spoil her,"
said Madame Saincere.

" In one way she is already spoiled beyond imag-
ining," replied Paul. " She says and does whatever
she pleases ; but in spite of her girlish caprices and
follies, she is a diamond of price — a creature to be
adored and scolded."

" Diamonds are only fit for full-dress," returned
his aunt, " not suitable for everyday wear — remem-
ber that, Paul."

"If she marries a man she admires and loves she
will do very well," replied the nephew.

Paul remained later than was his wont that even-
ing.

" Did you ever feel you had lived in a world before
this ?" he asked, wakening up from a reverie. " I
have a dim recollection that in some other state of
being we three have passed together such an evening
as this."

"And can you remember anything of Avhat fol-
lowed ?" laughed Madame Saincere.

" No ; but all we have done and said and looked
is as familiar to me as a twice-told tale."

" You have been dozing and dreaming. Good-
night."

CAPRICES AND DREAMS. 139

When Paul had gone, Madame Saincere said to

Begina —

" I believe he is fairly caught this time by Ma-
demoiselle Aurora."

" Do people ever speak of the faults of those they
love ?" asked Regina.

"It's a pleasure like that we have in irritating the
sting of a gnat," answered the lady.

CHAPTER XIV.

A LITTLE FOOL.

Three days later Madame Saincere and Regina
were at St. Yalery. They had left Paris so early in
the morning that none but market-carts and street-
sweepers were astir. Regina kept her head out of
the coach window, to hide from her companions that
her eyes were full of tears. She could not bear the
thought that she was leaving Paris. She envied
every passer-by who could remain there. She could
have kissed the stones over which they were jolting.
" You are sure you have your keys, Regina ?"
" Yes, madame."

" I wisli the coachman would go slower ; we shall
be upset. You have taken some warm clothing
with you, I hope ? Do you see the basket with our
lunch ?"

" Yes, madame," was answered to both questions.
Then Madame Saincere was afraid that the um-
brellas had been forgotten ; and when they were
found she and Annette had a long and interesting
conversation as to the pour et contre of the safety of
the apartment, left in charge of the house-porter and
his wife, the cook having got a holiday.

During the journey to St. Valery, Regina sat with
her hands on her knees, apparently intent on what
she could see from the railway-carnage window,

A LITTLE FOOL. 141

while, in fact, she was absorbed by Iter thoughts^
hearkening to an internal voice explaining to her the
cause of her morning's tears.

Madame Saincere would have held up her hands
in despair could she have known what was passing
within that screen of matter, called Regina.

Seeing the girl so pale, with bistre circles round
her eyes, and feeling her shudder, Madame Saincere
closed the window and covered her up with shawls,
insisting on her drinking a glass of wine and eating
a biscuit. Madame Saincere was a thousand leagues
away from guessing why her protegee was pale and sad.

About the time the travellers reached their desti-
nation, Aurora was giving Paul a sitting. Her por-
trait was nearly finished, and singularly resembled
the fair original. It was not alone a faithful tran-
script of her features, but the painter had animated
them with one of the salient points of her character.
Every line, every muscle, had been made to tell the
same tale. Valton had already given the picture
the title of " La Capricieuse." Studying her ani-
mated face, Paul felt his first enthusiastic admira-
tion reviving. She was this afternoon so lively and
so amusing, that, by some subtle association of ideas,
he was led again to think of the contrast between
her and the quiet girl in whose company he had
spent the previous evening.

Paul, dear young-lady reader, is not a hero of ro-
mance : he is a man, like many of those whom you
constantly meet and think well of. Men under
thirty do actually fall headlong in love; and, as

142 A PSYCHE OP TO-DAY.

some one has pithily said, " falls are bad things in
themselves." At five-and-thirty men make up their
minds to be in love or not.

Paul was extremely disposed to be in love with
Aurora.

After his visitor was gone, he locked the ante-
chamber door, took a cigar, and set to work to give
the finishing touches to the portrait, while his recol-
lection of the original was still vivid. As his brush
altered a tress of hair, or added color to the cheek,
lustre to the eye, roundness to the throat, his reflec-
tions were as follows : — " Paul, be reasonable ; marry,
if marry you must, so as to have a peaceable home.
My aunt is right. Beautiful Auroras are not made to
keep house, to look after children, and attend to the
comfort of husbands. Your picture finished, dear
muse, goddess, fairy ! I must forget you."

Paul found the day long and wearisome. He dis-
covered that all those whom he habitually saw had
left Paris. Every one had taken wing for the sea-
side or to some Baths. The Boulevards were a
desert. The only acquaintance he met in his after-
noon's stroll was Dr. M .

Paul hailed him.

" What's wrong ?" asked Dr. M .

"Ennui."

" You require change of air, also ?" retorted the
doctor. " Why not go to St. Valery ?"

"Why there?"

" Go elsewhere if you please. But I cannot stop
to discuss the point or I shall miss my dinner. By

A LITTLE FOOL. 143

a rare chance, I can dine with my family to-day,
Will you come with me?"

Paul, in the extremity of his dulness, accepted the
invitation, and got into the doctor's carriage.

Though Paul had known Dr. M for the last

five years, he had never seen Madame M .

The M family were already at dinner when

the doctor unexpectedly made his appearance with
a guest. Besides the wife and two little girls, there
was the doctor's mother. A cover was quickly
added for Paul; the host taking his seat between
his wife and mother — the latter a most reverend-
looking personage.

The greatest simplicity was visible in the dresses
of the ladies and children, and in all the arrange-
ments of the table. After the little embarrassment
felt by recluses at the sight of a stranger had passed

away, there was no want of cheerfulness. Dr. M ,

whom Paul had been accustomed to see everywhere
usurp the lead in conversation, here was reduced to
playing the second part. Each of the ladies and
children had something interesting to relate to the
head of the house, principally the performances of
the little girls at their day-school.

After dinner the grandmother and granddaughters
disappeared, and then the doctor asserted himself,
launching out into one of his most abstruse disserta-
tions. Paul was amused, watching the laudable
efforts of the- wife to keep awake.

" Go to bed, my dear girl," said the doctor. " M.
Latour and I will smoke in my study."

14A A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

" You are a more fortunate man than I supposed,
doctor," said Paul, between one whiff and another.

Dr. M gave an assenting puff.

" There is a delightful patriarchal air about your
home that I don't believe is common in Paris."

Another potent puff from the doctor ; who said,
with a look in the direction of the door through
which his wife had passed, " She is a most excellent
woman, simple, devoted, and contented. Ours was
not a marriage l de ralson? She was extremely
nicedooking, and it must have cost her at first many
a struggle to lead so retired a life ; but my mother
has very strict notions, and it would have been at
the cost of never-ending quarrels had Eugenie gone
into the world, even under the protection of her own
family. As to my accompanying her, that was out
of the question. I felt for her, though I said nothing.
I never heard her murmur. My mother told me she
fretted, but she alwavs received me with a smile.
After the birth of our first child, which unluckily
did not happen before the fourth year of our mar-
riage, she ceased even in secret to care for gayeties,
and from that period has become more and more my
friend. I might call her my partner in business, so
well does she manage when any of my patients call
or send daring my absence." The doctor and his
guest smoked some time in silence, and then Dr.

M added, "All depends on choosing what will

wear well. Nothing showy ever does."

" What you say tallies with a conclusion I came to
this morning," said Paul. "Even while dreaming

A LITTLE FOOL. 145

of a great possible joy, I had a vision of the conse-
quences it might entail."

" Of the headache alter the intoxication," observed
the doctor.

"Precisely. Just as I was about to fall at the
feet of the most enchanting creature I ever beheld,
I foresaw the possibility of one day not caring about
her."

" Better choose a woman at whose feet you are not
ready to fall, and you may end by adoring her.
How is it you have never thought of Mademoiselle
"Regina ?"

"Regina !" exclaimed Paul.

"Regina," affirmed the doctor. "Is she not as
lovely as a houri? is she not well dowered? is she
not as good as an angel ? isn't her whole life known
to you? Faith, you are difficult !"

"But I have not the smallest preference for her;
that is to say, I have a certain regard for her, as one
has for a child who has grown up under your eye. I
wish Mademoiselle Regina well. I take an interest;
in her," went on Paul, like one who is gradually
clearing a point to himself; "it would grieve me
ever to know of any evil befalling her."

" That's enough to begin with," replied the doctor.

" But she is so cold, so silent, so little compan-
ionable."

" Ah ! I shouldn't have guessed her to be cold ;
her eyes do not betoken want of feeling, though
they are not to be read as you run. As a physi-
ologist I can assure you she is not lymphatic, a gen-

146 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

erous blood courses through her veins. But what
the devil have I to do with making marriages," said

Dr. M hastily ; and then resolutely mounted

one of his hobbies, nor could Paul succeed in dis-
mounting him.

Madame Saincere had lived too long to be easily
surprised, but one day she sat with eyes and mouth
open, " afraid with amazement." She had been
reading a letter from her sister, and this letter con-
tained a formal proposal of marriage for Mademoi-
selle Xolopoeus.

Paul proposing for Regina ! who could ever have
dreamed of such a possibility ? And Madame Latour
not only consenting, but making the proposition.
Paul had never shown any attention to Regina, had
scarcely seemed conscious of her existence. And
Regina? Ah! here Madame Saincere stopped — a
light began to break in upon her. She laughed
aloud, though alone, and then she re-read her sister's
letter. It was really true. Paul had told his mother
that if she was in earnest as to his marrying, she
must accept of Mademoiselle Nolopoeus as a daugh-
ter-in-law; it was to take or to leave; and Madame
Latour, reflecting on the young lady's dot, her ami-
able qualities, her connections on the mother's side,
had graciously consented to overlook the Bohemian
father.

"Paul then has made sure of Regina's consent,"
thought Madame Saincere, as she wrote back that

A LITTLE FOOL. 147

she must have a conversation with Paul before she
mentioned his offer to Regina.

She telegraphed to Paris, and the following day-
Paul walked into her little salon in the hotel of the
"Liond'Or."

" You can look me in the face and tell me that you
seriously wish to marry Regina ?" burst out Madame
Saincere.

" Certainly I have that courage, for I mean to
many Regina if she will have me."

" But you do not love her — not even according to
your fashion ?"

"Perhaps. Who knows? though I am not aware
to what peculiar fashion of loving you allude.

" Xo offence to you, my good Paul, when I say
that your fashion of loving has a strong family re-
semblance to that of all men organized to be poets
and artists. All genius, all exceptional talent, is of
its nature egotistical. One like you, enamored of
your ait, will infallibly make a wretched husband,
and break the heart of a woman with a spark of feel-
ing. You need not be offended, you err in good
company. Take my advice, let Regina alone, and
marry some common-place girl, who, so long as you
allow her plenty of pocket-money and amusement,
will not trouble herself as to the amount of your love
for her."

" Thank you for your opinions and counsels, but 1
fancy Kegina will suit me very well. I have seen
her grow up — she is a good steady girl. I flatter
myself I do know something of her character."

148 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

" Possibly ; though you may really be flattering
yourself in thinking you understand her. Because
she is undemonstrative, you fancy you have found
a capital mill-horse. Have a care, Paul ; my idea
is, that she will develop into a passionate woman ;
and you, who are as cold as ice . . . . "

" Cold as ice ! What makes you think so ?" in-
terrupted Paul.

" Oh ! your imagination and your senses are keen
enough. A yonng girl will easily mistake their ar-
dor for warmth of heart. But with you, and such
as you, there must be a priestess for your godship.
You must be fed with illusions, and, consequently,
must from time to time have a new priestess."

Paul laughed, and said —

" Suppose the god has turned sick of priestesses,
and desires to descend from his pedestal, and to sub-
side into private life?"

She answered —

"This I know, that temperament will always have
the upper hand in life, and you will always require
a priestess and incense !"

" Then I am to understand, you refuse my pro-
posal."

" I disapprove of it, but I have no right to keep
it from Regina ; since her natural guardians refuse
her their care, she must decide the question for
herself."

"You will not prejudice her against me; and, of
course, there is no necessity for mentioning that I
ever loved any one else."

A LITTLE FOOL. 149

" It ia difficult to wall out the past, Paul ; but on
that subject I see no necessity to enter. I shall not
disstade Regina from accepting you, but I shall un-
doubtedly point out to her that the wife of an artist
must arm herself with a double armor of patience."

The Mephistopheles who is ever at the ear of
men and women of the world, suggesting evil ex-
planations of the acts of their neighbors, now whis-
pered to Madame Sainc6re, that the only reason for
this step of Paul's was, that, by the death of two
childless uncles, Regina's fortune had been trebled.
The De Rochetaillees would be sure to accuse her
(Madame Saincere) of making the match. Whose
the fault that she had the power to do so ? Their
conscience must tell them that it was their own.

A little drama had been enacting before her, and
she had seen nothing of it.

It is not pleasant to discover how completely we
are in the dark as to what is going on in the minds
and hearts of those with whom we live: to look
around a room full of our intimates, and to have to
confess to ourselves that all we can answer for know-
ing of them is their exterior. People dance, sing,
laugh, compliment ; take one another by the hand
and say, " What a pleasant evening we have passed !
— how merry we have been !" — and all the time
there has been disappointment, pique, rivalry, heart-
sickness in many a bosom. Ah ! what battles are
fought out in the obscurity of the human heart !
What sepulchres of untold agonies are our souls !

Madame Saincere waited till late in the evening,

150 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAT.

so as to make sure of no interruptions before she
spoke to Regina. She said abruptly —

"I have received another proposal of marriage
for you, Regina."

" Thank you, madame, I do not mean to marry,"
was the quick rejoinder.

" Very well, my dear. No one will force your in-
clination ; but I have promised to make known to
you the offer, and therefore I must beg you to listen
to me for five minutes. This time the person is not
a stranger to you."

Regina gave Madame Saincere a quick half-scared
look.

" It is my nephew, Paul."

Regina made no answer. She seized hold of the
table by which she was sitting, for the room seemed
to be turning round.

" Ah ! mon Dieu, mon Dieic — what a misfortune !
She loves him," muttered Madame Saincere — run-
ning into the next room for a glass of water. She
held it to Regina's lips, saying with a harshness she
could not subdue — " Don't let us have hysterics. I
thought you were above that sort of thing. Come,
swallow some water." ^

Madame Saincere was irritated, because she was
both sorry and uneasy at what she foresaw was to
be the upshot of the business.

" I cannot divine any cause for more agitation now
than in the case of M. Desjardins ; not so much
reason, for you have known Paul more than half
your life."

A LITTLE FOOL. 151

"I beg your pardon, madame. I am not well ;
that makes me nervous." The girl's lips were blue,
her whole body was in a tremble. " I — I — ." She
threw her arras round Madame Saincere's neck and
said with fluttering breath, — " Be good to me, I have
no one but you."

" I wish to be good to you, child. Why do you
doubt it ?" and Regina felt warm motherly tears on
her brow. What a look of intense affection shot from
the orphan girl's eyes !

The world-experienced woman, the woman by the
world subdued, shrank from the girl's gaze, as we do
when we meet the confiding look of any helpless
creature we know to be predestined to pass through
some terrible suffering. Madame Saincere's feeling
was very much the reverse of the spectator who, safe
on shore, watches a probable shipwreck. It was, in-
deed, an access of interest which made her try to as-
sume a cool matter-of-fact manner. She said —

" Let us try to make use of what common sense
God has mercifully bestowed on us ; for of all affairs
which require good sense, marriage is the foremost.
Almost everything else has been modified since the
Creation; but that which was a matter of necessity
then, seeing there were but two people in the world,
has become a fatal law. Do remember, my dear
child, that, let a man and woman hate one another
ever so much, once married and there is no breaking
the chain. When people marry, they take a formal
engagement to make two wills work as one, — it's in
the bond ; but it's an impossibility. Pascal lias said,

152 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

1 JChomme n^est ange ni bete." 1 I say he is very often
solely the last ; and liis wife, knowing him to be so,
must pretend to think him the first. To be able to
do so is the best foundation for her peace ; but the
gift of blindness is not vouchsafed to every one. As
for Paul, I believe him less fitted to make a woman
happy than M. Desjardins. Paul is too much in the
world's eye. Celebrated men and women, having to
give much to the public, have less for home. Paul,
my dear Regina, has the organization belonging to his
vocation. He is easily influenced ; easily depressed :
he is irritable — morbid — often doubtful of his own
powers. To tell you the truth," added Madame Sain-
cere, carried away by her subject, 'it is my decided
opinion that poets, painters, writers, musicians, have
no business with wives. Let their works be their off-
spring. They ought to leave it to men who can't
tell Beethoven from Strauss, or a fine picture from a
colored lithograph, to be fathers of families. How-
ever, I may as well hold my tongue ; I shall not
change the world."

Madame Saincere stopped, and waited for an answer.
As it did not come, she pronounced an interrogative
"Well?" so loudly that Regina started. The pale
cheek flushed as she said softly, oh ! so softly, in a
voice she had learned within the last five minutes, a
voice with divine harmonies in it, the secret of which
each mortal possesses but for an evanescent period,
she said —

" Do you think — it seems so wonderful— that he
should care for me ! Can it be ?"

A LITTLE FOOL. 153

And this was the result of madame Saincere's ap-
peal to common sense. She gave a dry " Hem !" and
lightly kissed Regina's cheek, saying —

" Paul must answer that question himself; he only
gave me a commission to ask you to marry him."

It was a strange duet this: each singer hearing
only his own part.

The last words on Madame Saincere's lips that night
were, " A little fool— a poor little fool."

CHAPTER XV.

HAPPY !

It is good to Lave been, once in a life, such " a
little fool" as Regina was that night. All happiness
has to be paid for; but it is much to have had the
happiness — so many lives pass without it — pass in a
dull, gray indifference. Paul's mother, for instance,
had never known a similar feelino; to that now ex-
perienced by her intended daughter-in-law. Poor
Madame Latour ! not one wish or project of hers but
had been realized in the way most painful to her.

Nor had Madame Saincere any conception of the
hymn of joy now being sung in Regina's bosom.
Madame Saincere's nature had never been fully de-
veloped. Some fibres had never vibrated. Happi-
ness is as necessary to the complete development
of our faculties as grief; and Madame Saincere had
never known the supremest earthly good — that of
loving and being loved. It was this shortcoming
which gave a something of hardness to her character.
When, in wishing Regina good-night, she had add-
ed, " You will see Paul to-morrow," had Regina
spoken as she felt, and said " Not so soon," Madame
Saincere would have wondered. She had never felt
as Regina was feeling, that craving of the soul foi

iiuty! 155

space and solitude— to understand, to measure, to
embrace its sudden wonderful happiness.

And Paul ! Well, it is not to be expected that he
should be in a similar frame of mind. No man of
his age or character renounces all his past without
regret — nay, more — without dread. Until he had
been sure of Regina's acceptance of his offer, sus-
pense had kept in check all other sensations. With
certainty came reaction. Had there been a possi-
bility of so doing, he would have drawn back. The
die was cast, and he must accept his fate.

While preparing for his interview with his be-
trothed, he called up a vision of her the very re-
verse of all that had been most captivating to him.
She was the very antipodes of Adeline and Aurora,
those lively, rosy, blonde beauties — delightful, way-
ward, and unreasonable. Kegina was dark, and
pale, and calm, as only strength can be. It was
thus he expected to find her.

What was his astonishment to meet a creature
as strange to him as if seen for the first time ! — a
creature all grace and softness; a radiance not of
this earth shining on her countenance.

A flood of life had inundated Regina's being.
She was as new a creation as Eve, when first pre-
sented to Adam. The same Divine Spirit which
out of Chaos had produced the order of the Spheres,
had breathed on her, and bestowed light and har-
mony. All the confusion and discord of her soul
had vanished.

Paul, as his paintei-'s eye rested on her face, won-

156 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

dered how he could have been so longj blind to its
ineffable suavity. Even at that instant of surprise
and admiration, the thought crossed him of what a
lovely model she would be for an "Annunciation."
Never did he remember to have beheld such a type ■
of candor and modesty. She was more heavenly
than any Madonna of Raphael. His were the rap-
tures of an artist, not those of a lover ; in fact he
was not a lovei\ It never dawned on him that the
greatest charm of the exterior was due to what was
unseen. Paul was, in truth, very little of an idealist.
He went no deeper than the surface, and in art, as
in other things, we only find what we seek.

The girl divined his admiration, and with the
ignorance of her age she believed admiration and
love to be synonymous. Older and wiser than she
might have been misled by the ardor of his looks
and words.

Madame Saincere said to herself, " The fire of the
volcano has been apparently long smouldering — it
has burst into flame at last. Who would have
thought it ?"

Even Paul believed that what he felt was love,
and of a certain kind perhaps it was. That evening
when he was alone, he made an exquisite sketch of
Regina from memory. He drew her standing, lean-
ing slightly forward, as if in the act of listening.
The grace of his lines had never been more perfect.
"I shall astonish them," he said. "The them"
alluded to, were the critics and connoisseurs, and the
public who follow after, like sheep over a hedge.

happy! 157

When next day he showed the drawing to Regina,
she gazed at it some time in silence, with every fea-
ture refined Ly an emotion rendering her complexion
quite transparent. Turning her fathomless eyes on
him, she asked, " Is this really like me ?"

He hesitated for an instant to answer, for that
voice was unknown to him, and then he spoke his
thought hrusquely, saying —

" No, the reality is far superior ; but I shall suc-
ceed in painting you, Regina, and I shall owe you
not only my happiness, hut my fame. Raphael had
no more faultless model."

It was the fable of the Bulbul and the Rose put in
action. The song of the lover made the maiden
blush into even more loveliness. Regina was still
child enough to perceive no fault in Paul's continual
ravings about her beauty. While he was expati-
ating on the purity of the lines of her figure — remarks
the warmth of which was scarcely checked by re-
spect — she, instead of growing vain, was grateful to
him for seeing anything worth praising in her.

At the end of the month Madame Saincere took
Regina back to- Paris; and as there was no reason
for delaying the marriage, she commenced all the
necessary preliminaries. She had already received a
willing consent from the De Roehetaillees, and was
in possession of the certificates of the death of Re-
gina's parents and of that of her baptism. The only
thing to do, besides ordering the trousseau^ was to
agree on the terms of the marriage settlement.

Accordingly, one morning, Madame Saincere spoke

158 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

to Paul on the subject. "Regina having so mucl
larger a fortune than you have, I should advise you,
Paul, to settle some considerable part of her money
on herself."

" I meant to propose the commimaute de Mens,''''
he said. " I think, in our rank of life, independence
for a woman absurd. However, do as you please.
I shall sign whatever you and she agree on."

"As for Regina, she knows nothing about the
necessity of contracts. My proposition arises from a
wish to prove to the De Rochetaillees that we have
not made the marriage from interested motives."

" They have no right to make any remarks, con-
sidering the way they have thrown the girl on us."

" But no one considers ' the right they have' be-
fore they make remarks, and I should not wish our
conduct to afford any foundation for ill-natured sus-
picions."

" My dear aunt, do what you please about Regi-
na's money, but spare me; discussions concerning
settlements are enough to disgust a man with mar-
riage."

Madame Saincere was not pleased; she had ex-
pected greater liberality from Paul. M. Desjardins
had offered to settle the whole of Regina's fortune
on herself. Poor little fool! ejaculated Madame
Saincere a second time.

The moment Regina came to understand on what
subject Madame Saincere was consulting her, she
said, impetuously —

" II* as you say, my being one-and-twenty gives

HAPPY ! 159

me the disposal of my money, then I give it all to
Monsieur Latour: so that is easily arranged."

" But that cannot be, my good child. Paul would
never allow you to do such a foolish thing. Both he
and I are bound to take care of you. Regina, noth-
ing in this life is certain, except changes ; a thousand
eventualities may occur which would render your
contract of marriage an anchor of safety for Paul, as
well as you."

" It is dreadful," exclaimed Regina, " to be caring
about the safety of my money, when I give him my-
self. If I were queen of the whole world, I would
make him accept all I possessed ; I would have
nothing but what he gave me as a gift. I wish to
owe him everything. Oh, madam ! it will be so de-
lightful to be obliged to ask him for what I need."

"You very silly girl ! where have you picked up
such nonsense ? A settlement you must have ;
Paul's honor requires it as much as your interest.
He is not immortal."

Regina turned deadly white, but did not speak.
Madame Saincere noticing her change of color, said —

" It is the duty of friends to look after those who
have lost their senses — that is your predicament at
this moment. You will thank me some day for what,
in your heart, you are stigmatizing as worldliness."

"I can never have any interest separate from M.
Latour's ; I pray to God to take me away before
such a misery befalls me." And her tone was that
of one already seized on by a presentiment of mar-
tyrdom.

160 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

Madame Saincere was at fault — influenced by a
respect such as that which restrains us from utter-
ing anything base or mean before a child. No, she
neither could nor would enlighten Regina as to j:>os-
sibilities.

"Why must I have a settlement?" went on Re-
gina. "Poor people do not have any, do they?
My mother had none."

" Your mother's marriage was a peculiar one.
Suppose we leave the arrangements to Paul ?"

" Yes. Tell him I don't wish to be independent
of him, — that I beg he will accept all I have. I
would like to owe him everything — to belong to him
altogether — to have no life of my own : that's my
hope."

" There's nothing real, nothing reasonable in what
you say. Xo imaginable love can annihilate your
individuality or your will. Begin with your notions,
and you will blunder on from one mistake to an-
other. Your reason has been given to you to make
use of. If young folks would only be guided by
their elders !" concluded Madame Saincere.

And if they were, would it not be like having
summer without a preceding tender, graceful spring ?

BOOK II.

CHAPTER XVI.

AN" ANNIVERSARY.

Regina was at the zenith of her contentment when
she arrived in the Rue Bleue after her wedding-tour
to the Pyrenees. She loved, and nothing doubted.
But she was as ignorant as to whom she adored as
was Psyche, that eternal prototype of young woman-
kind, when she left her paternal home to follow the
god. A strange thing it is to love, and yet be so
thoroughly in the dark as to the object of your love.
It would not much matter if the obscurity might
last; but no! there is some mysterious law which
condemns the loving to seek for knowledge and light.

Regina had a great success among Paul's bachelor
friends. She was so modest, so unaffected, so evi-
dently devoted heart and soul to her husband, that
she spread an epidemic of matrimony among them.
Tally, Valton, and Burgmuller became unfailing at-
tendants of Paul's Friday artist soirees. Ernst of
course confided to the world that he was einp'e amou-
■ of the beautiful Madame Paul. Ah, had he only
known her a little sooner ! Like a withered tree
suddenly sending forth new branches, so did he have

162 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

a new growth of sentiment and enthusiasm. Ma-
dame Paid was installed as the saint in his betit
Mariensgarten. This did not, however, prevent his
assuring Valton that a grcmde dame at Tronville j
had made him advances. But that was a mere pre-,
fane love, not worthy to pass the gates of the Mari-
ensgarten.

George Tully de la Roche Belusson elected Ma-
dame Paul as the Laura of his sonnets, for the sake
of the angelico sorriso with which she listened to his
odes, even when he recited that famous one already
mentioned, with eyes so charged with electric an-
athematizing power, that they must have paralyzed
any grocer unlucky enough to receive his glance.

Paul was amused by Regina's unconsciousness of
the admiration she excited. He watched, with sly
complacency, how completely he himself absorbed
all her attention. Latour was as nearly happy in
those days as it is given to mortals to be. He en-
joyed his contentment as men do good health, un-
consciously and without gratitude. It was during
the first year of his marriage that he painted that

" Annunciation" for the Church of , which gave

him a European reputation. Every bit of canvas,
signed with his name, brought its weight in wold.
Princesses bade for them. Poets sang them. Every
one of his works, dated at that period, i- distin-
guished by an extreme delicacy and refinement,

which you seek for in vain afterward. Emerson

says —

" You cannot hide any secret. If you make a

AN ANNIVERSARY. 1G3

picture or a statue, it sets the beholder in that state
of mind you had when you made it."

Madame Saincere was so satisfied with the state
of things in the little household in the Rue Bleue,
that she began to take credit to herself for the mar-
riage, to boast of it as her doing. Madame Latour
was only half pleased. She Mas still longing for a
grandchild.

Aurora, though Biirgmiiller, and indeed all her
circle, pressed her to seek Pegina's acquaintance,
had not followed the advice; nevertheless she con-
tinually questioned Yalton and Ernst about Madame
Paul. She made them tell her how she wore her
haii - , how she dressed, w r hat she talked about. As to
this last, they owned they had little to repeat. Ma-
dame Paul was more of a listener than a talker.

Paul had had his wife photographed by all the
lust Parisian photographers, and Aurora coaxed
Biirgmuller to obtain surreptitiously for her one of
these photographs.

" I don't wish M. Latour to know that I have it,"
she said.

And when Ernst brought it to her, Aurora said in
her most decided way —

" I can tell you this, Regina has a soul above her
husband's. She is his superior; it is to be hoped he
will never find it out, or he will hate her."

"She is undoubtedly angelic, my dear Hubert,
but she has not his talent for painting," answered
Ernst.

" An original discovery, dear Ernst !" and Aurora

164 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

dropped into silence. Her eyes, widely opened, were
fixed on the rosy Teutonic visage opposite to her.

Had he not been so possessed by his familiar de-
mon of fatuity, he might have perceived that her
spirit was wandering. His besetting foible did for
him what it does for everybody — distorted all the
objects he looked upon. Aurora's absent soul re-
turned, and found him in the midst of a most bril-
liant declaration of love. She broke it off by a long
ripple of laughter, like a flute cadenza.

" This is too bad," she said, when she had fairly
arrested his fluency. "How old are you? Do you
remember? Forty-five, and I am a year under
twenty, and yet I can't be Hubert for you ! How
lonely you men make women ! We find small com-
panionship among ourselves, for we are like a herd
of cows, always butting at one another, and that's
from rivalry ; and if, to escape that, we turn to such
as you, more than middle-aged, instead of honest
friendship you offer us a Fools' Paradise. Marry, or
be lonely — that's what men have decreed for women.
I choose the last."

"You ask for impossibilities, Aurora — Hubert,"
replied Ernst, almost angrily. "You are young,
attractive, and men are not statues."

"Humbug!" she answered. "You have been
very unkind, Ernst. I wanted a friend just now, I
was on the point of saying, Lend me your ear — the
ear of a safe confidant."

" It all comes of a bad habit, Hubert ; forgive me.
You know I would go through fire and water for you.

AN ANNIVERSARY. 1G5

Tell me your secret. 1 will never again breathe a
word of my passion to you."

" Very well ; now let us go on talking of the paint-
er and his wife. And so he makes her happy?"

Ernst raised his eyes in attestation of the fact.

" She worships the ground lie stands on."

" That decides me not to know her," said Aurora.
" A sight to exaspei-ate a saint, for I am sure he ac-
cepts her idolatry as only his due." She thrust
both hands through her hair, making herself look
like a lovely Discord. " I am going to compose a
cantate, after the fashion of the ' Desert ;' it is to be
called ' Juggernaut.' I shall have a soprano, raving
mad with love for the god, and two choruses — one
of devotees, Hindoos, and the other of English — and
dances, and at last such a crash — my soprano pre-
cipitating herself with a hymn, pathetic, exulting,
tragic, to be crushed by her idol. It will be grand,
won't it? And I shall dedicate it to Madame Paul
Latour. What a fool I am to put myself in a rage !
It's all right, and I am very glad the beautiful
Regina adores her Paul. There, are you satis-
fied?"

" Oh, quite !" and Ernst drew a long breath ; then
he added, in a low voice, " Dear Hubert, I pray that
you may one day love a husband as Madame Paul
does — don't look so angry — believe me there is more
happiness for a woman in loving than being loved."

"How can you, a man, judge of that?"

" Men and women are very much the same, and it
makes me happy to love."

1GG A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

" Go on and prosper, clear Ernst," she said, with a
light laugh.

Biirgmtiller left Aurora, wondering what it was
she had been going to confide to him. He specu-
lated freely, and often came very near what he was
seeking, but he never actually found it. In fiction,
motives and feelings are arbitrarily laid bare — in
reality, souls keep their secrets.

It was on the 15th of October that Ernst had had
this Conversation with Aurora. It was the anniver-
sary of Regina's wedding-day, and this was what
was passing in the Rue Bleue : —

Regina had that morning, very naturally, expected
some affectionate compliments from Paul. She went
into her dressing-room expecting to see some flow-
ers, as on her fete-day (bouquets are obligatory of-
ferings on such occasions) ; there were none. She
was sure to find some in the salon, or by her plate
at breakfast. It was a trifle to be anxious about,
but then there ai - e no trifles where the heart is con-
cerned. The young wife's eager eyes looked in vain.
" Surely Paul had not forgotten what had occurred
on that day last year; perhaps he had not recollected
the date." A woman is the subtlest of all advo-
cates in finding a loop-hole of escape for a culprit
who is loved. " When he came to look over his en-
gagements he would remember." Breakfast passed
without any tender allusions, and it was not till a
quarter of an hour before dinner that Paul and Re-
gina met again. He came into the salon with the
lively step of a man in good-humor. She was stand-

AN ANNIVERSARY. 1G7

ing rather disconsolately at one of the windows over-
looking the garden at the hack of the house.

" My dear Regina" — his voice was joyous — "my
dear Regina" — she turned to him, certain that he
was going to say the wished-lbr words — "I have a
piece of good news for you; the very thing I have
so longed for has come to jiass to-day. Guess who
has been here — who has been for the last hour and
a-half in the atelier."

Regina gulped down the ball that had risen in her

throat, and valiantly named M. M , the eminent

art critic.

" Better than that. The Princess M , my dear

girl. Yes — she has begged me to paint a picture
for her."

" I am very glad," said Regina, striving to ap-
pear so, but having an involuntary consciousness
that Paul's joy was not very dignified. It is hor-
ribly painful to be forced to see the least flaw in an
idol.

" And now," continued her husband, " I must run
away and dress, for I dine with her Highness."

" To-day, what a pity !" she exclaimed. " Paul,
have you forgotten ?"

"What?" and his voice was disagreeably sharp.

" To-day is the 15th of October — our wedding-day."

"Ah ! I am sorry it has so happened — we will keep
it to-morrow ; one day is as good as another when all
are happy; and you see, my dear angel, even had I
recollected the important date, I could not have de-
clined the invitation. When Fortune comes to our

168 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

door, we must open it wide. Don't spoil ray luck
by a sentimental face : it's more a matter of busi-
ness than pleasure, I assure you."

Paul descried something sparkling like dew-drops
on his wife's long eyelashes, and immediately re-
solved on flight. He gave her a hasty kiss and ran
out of the room.

In half an hour he returned, and found Regina
sitting in the dark. He set down his lighted can-
dle, and rang the bell angrily.

" Why haven't you brought in the lamp ?" he
asked of the servant. " Do you hear ? it is to be
lighted every day at dusk."

Up to this moment not a single unpleasant word
had ever occurred between husband and wife. There
is always a pause of unwillingness before any Rubi-
con is passed. So Paul poured out his irritation
on old Joseph, his valet.

As soon as Regina saw Paul angry, she forgot
her own griefs in anxiety to allay the storm. She
sought for something agreeable to say, but she had
to struggle with a bashfulness all delicate natures
feel in the utterance of personal compliments, ere
she could say —

" How well you look in evening dress, Paid !"

" This demi-obscurity which you have chosen is
favorable to me" — then he rang the bell violently
again. " Get me a cab, and see that the horse can
move. I shall be late — thanks to all this nonsense"
■ — he added in a mutter.

" You will oblige me, Regina, if, during the eve-

AN ANNIVERSARY. 169

mug, you will put the sketch-books I had to exhibit
to-day back into their places. Make Joseph light
the gas for you. I am sorry to give you such a
task, but it is one I cannot trust to a servant."

" It won't be any trouble. You promised I should
have charge of the atelier."

" Remember to arrange the books in rotation ac-
cording to the years. Good-bye ; if you feel dull,
go over to my aunt, and don't sit up for me."

He went without any further leave-taking. He
was not of the forgiving kind.

Joseph, as he shut his master into the coach,
said, with what he meant for an agreeable smile —

" If I were to take a bouquet to Madame from
Monsieur ?"

"Do as you please," returned Paul, giving the
suggester an angry look.

"It begins — it begins !" sighed old Joseph.

The old man was a sort of heir-loom in the family
of the Latours de la Mothe. At ten years old he
had entered the service of Colonel Latour, the hand-
some aide-de-camp of the Marechal O . Joseph

had seen something of gay life. Colonel Latour had
been a spendthrift and a roue — had broken the
hearts of two wives, and squandered their fortunes.
Joseph had certain reminiscences which helped him
to understand Paul's angry mood, and his young
mistress's sadness. Joseph had recollected, though
his master had not, what day it was.

When Regina saw beautiful flowers by the side
of her solitary plate, her eyes brightened.

170 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

"De la part de Monsieur," said Joseph; telling
his monstrous falsehood without any remorse, and
then he took on himself to coax Madame to eat.
By the time she had finished her dinner, Joseph had
brought about a reaction in Regina's feelings, and
it was quite cheerfully that she begged him to light
one of the gas-burners in the atelier. She had
something to do there for M. Latour. After she
had placed the sketch-books in their proper places
on the shelf, she be^an to o-ather together the draw-
ings strewn about on chairs and tables.

This part of her task did not proceed very rapidly,
for she had enough of the artist in her to appreciate
and be interested in what she saw. She lingered
wistfully over the many female heads, and there were
dozens of them, drawn in pencil, washed in sepia, or
colored caVefully. They were all beautiful, and she
wondered how it was Paul had not married sooner —
it was surely impossible he could have been indif-
ferent to all these lovely creatures. It was strange
how he had waited so long, and then chosen her—
a person of whom he had scarcely ever taken any
notice. He really had scarcely known anything of
her when they married ; she doubted if he under-
sl < »od her now. She believed she was of more worth
tli ;n i he thought. She wished — all young, generous
natures do have such wishes — she wished for some
opportunity for a great self-sacrifice, that something
might happen : that he might be bitten by a mad
dog, and she save him by sucking the wound; or
that he might have the plague, and she nurse him

AX AXNIVKii.NAKY. 171

back to health — herself dying. Ah! how willingly

she would die only to hear him say as she heard it
said in her heart, "Regina, I love you !"

Gradually it dawned on her that, among the fe-
male heads of the sketches, there was one oftener
reproduced than the others, and that it was one
familiar to her. At first, she fancied it was like that
Miss Aurora, of whom she had been jealous ; but it
could not be, for these drawings were dated years
back. All at once, and without any apparent asso-
ciation of ideas, she thought of that Madame Aubert
or — no — Aubry, whom she had met at Juvigny, and
then she recollected having said her face was familiar ;
and so it was ; for there had been a picture of her in
the atelier when she was a child. It was gone, but
she remembered very well where it had hung, near
that corner where there was now a coat-of-arrnor.
Regina went and looked behind the armor, but there
was no picture there.

She took out the drawings she had already con-
signed to the portfolios — always that same face on
the margins of all the sketches clone at Rome. It
reappeared among the ruins, among columns and
arches; there it was again in that careful study of
the Campagna — that sick woman had Madame Au-
bry's features. She guessed now why Madame La-
tour had shown an aversion for that lady. She
guessed, also — love is a clever master — why Madame
Aubry had been so sarcastic about Paul. Ah ! but
she was old, now! those dates at Rome were more
than fifteen years back. Madame Aubry was as old

172 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

as Paul ; and her children must be grown-up. With
that consoling thought Regina rjut away those waifs
of her husband's early years back into their respec-
tive portfolios.

As she pushed them into their niche, she perceived
a drawer open of a Louis XV. commode, — one of
the prettiest articles of furniture in the atelier. As
she waspassing it she mechannically tried to push in
the drawer, which resisted, as drawers are apt to do.
It went in at one side and obstinately came out at
the other. Regina persisted, and thought to over-
come by force. In the struggle she pulled the
drawer out, and all the contents fell on the floor.
Very heterogeneous articles did Regina pick up —
cigar-cases, neckties, worked slippers, old purses,
old hotel bills, novels in yellow paper covers, vocab-
ularies in every living language, a mask, odd gloves,
a something rolled up in a white silk handkerchief.
As she lifted this it opened, and out fell a thick long
roll of fair hair, dry and faded, but still of a pale
gold color. It had evidently been severed close to
the neck. She had it still in her hand, when Joseph
opened the atelier door; he had come to see if
Madame did not require his services.

" What wonderful hair !" said Regina, holding it
out to him.

" Hair ! Is Madame sure it is not the tail of the
Arab horse Monsieur was so fond of?"

" What ! such fine gold silk hair the tail of a horse,
Joseph !"

" Ah ! now I recollect," said Joseph. " Monsieur

AN ANNIVERSARY. 173

has lots of hair to paint from. Has .Madame not
found some others ?"

" No, only this. It wants air, it smells mouldy/'
" Monsieur has forgotten he had it. Monsieur was
always very particular about hair. I remember his
paying an ugly German broom-seller for some of her
hair, because it was of some particular shade."

Regina said no more, but rolled up the hair in the
handkerchief and replaced it in the drawer. She
went at once to bed. Some woman's instinct, which
so often stands a young wife in lieu of experience and
judgment, led her to avoid any conversation with
her husband that night.

CHAPTER XVII.

RIPPLES ON THE LAKE OF MATEIMONT.

Paul had left his hcmse both irritated and sorry.
The burden of his thoughts, as he drove to the
Champs Elysees, was, that women managed, by their
sentimentality, to make reasonable men thoroughly
uncomfortable, and that assuredly the blessings of
marriage were counterbalanced by the many checks
it imposed on a man's liberty.

It was a great change, from his own dark drawing-
room and Regina's disappointed face, to the blaze of
lio-ht and the brilliant circle assembled in the
Princess M.'s salons. It was like the change from
December to June. Nothing could be more gracious
than the reception accorded to the artist by the no-
ble hostess ; and the guests, to many of whom he
was already personally known, followed H. H.'s ex-
ample.

Paul found himself at once in a congenial sphere
of grace and beauty — eye and ear equally caressed —
the one by the sound of silver voices, the other by
bright smiles. As he glanced around the circle, he
started violently. Not for half an instant did he
doubt that it was Madame Aubry who was within a
few feet of him. Her lips were parted by the strange
smile he knew so well — a smile that conveyed no
impression of pleasure. As his look of recognition

RIPPLES ON THE LAKE OF MATRIMONY. 175

met hers, she turned away her head — did so point-
edly and decidedly. He had forgotten none of Ad-
eline's ways: lie understood her as perfectly now as
he had done years ago — years many enough to tell
them both they had left their youth behind them.
At first he was aware of a great change in Madame
Aubry's appearance. She looked either hectic or
rouged. Her eyes were sunken. She appeared, in
fact, what she was — a well-preserved woman. Those
were his first impressions ; but ere the evening ended,
he had lost sight of any alteration ; he saw her as
she had been when they parted. It is always so ; it
is not the features or the bloom we care for in those
dear to us — it is the well-known expression, and this
always remains.

The whole time he was breathing the same at-
mosphere with her, Paul had a double consciousness.
Carrying on at one moment a lively discussion on
art with some connoisseurs, at another listening re-
spectfully to H. H., he was the while speculating in-
wardly on what might be the result of this meeting
with Adeline — chafing under her sarcastic smile and
resolute repudiation of all knowledge of him.

"It is a fatality," thought he. Yes, a fatality,
because the citadel was ill defended.

Paul slept little that night. The leading faculty,
his imagination, was excited.

Regina asked him the following morning, at break-
fast, if he were well ?

" Quite," he answered in a tone that was civil, by
a great effort.

176 A rSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

She ought to have left him undisturbed to the
newspaper lie was reading. But she had little tact,
and was, besides, oppressed by a fear that his un-
usual taciturnity arose from displeasure. Though
if either of them had cause to be displeased, it was
surely not Paul. But she, as all loving women do,
felt ready to avow herself in fault, and to seek re-
conciliation.

" "Was it a pleasant party ?"

" Neither pleasant nor unpleasant."

" What did you do ?"

At this last query he looked at her and said —

" I am a bad hand at gossipping. There were
women pretty and not pretty ; well and ill dressed ;
coquettish and silly, as usual. Several men in even-
ing dress ; one or two young, but most of them bald-
headed."

Regina was silenced.

When Paul went to his atelier, she passed through
a bitter quarter of an hour. She supposed that she
must exjiect her husband to be different in the
second year of their marriage to what he had been
in the first. She had heard Monsieur This and
Monsieur That speak roughly to their wives ; and
yet everybody knew they w T ere attached to one
another. She recalled to mind a conversation she
had once heard at Madame Saincere's. A Monsieur
Georges had said, in presence of Madame Georges,
that if his wife died, he should never marry again —
not that he had been unhappy, but to have his lib-
erty; and Madame Georges had laughed and said,

RIPPLES ON THE LAKE OF MATRIMONY. 177

"If she were a widow, she should marry again di-
rectly." Upon which M. Georges had answered
angrily, that, "If she did, he would not acknowledge
her when they met in Paradise." Women often
find comfort in such recollections as these. Besides,
Madame Saincere had warned her not to expect
that Paul would remain loverdike in manner — had
warned her that it was an impossibility, and that
affection and friendship were excellent substitutes ; a
theory quite hateful to Regiua ; but what if it were
true ?

After this self-colloquy her heart was so sore that
she felt impelled to seek the balm of Paul's presence,
and went to the atelier. He was not painting — he
was brooding and smoking, and in a mood common
to mortals: he needed to be reconciled with himself.
Regina, most assuredly, was not the person to do
this. She was too young and unknowing; never
even having had the experience of many girls, who
have had opportunities of observing — " How mam-
ma managed to put papa in good-humor again."
Nor had she high animal spirits to help her. She
was too heavily weighted by her love, and she was
further checked by a sensation that had troubled
her ever since her marriage. It was difficult to de-
fine. The nearest explanation would have been that
of two people living together who did not under-
stand a word of each other's language. She had
striven over and over again against this disagree-
able impression ; and li ad more than once surprised
her husband by certain starts of confidence, whici

178 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

however, never led to any reciprocity from him.
Paul never talked to Regina of his childhood, boy-
hood, or of his young man's life : never gossipped to
her about former years, in the way a married lover
does. Often and often there was lack of subjects of
conversation between them. A very sad symptom.
No surer sign of love than that of having so much
to say to one another.

When Regina opened the atelier-door Paul laid
aside his pipe, rose, and placed a chair for her.
What superhuman efforts she made to find some-
thing agreeable to talk about ! After diverging
from topic to topic, with a want of connection dis-
tressing and fatiguing to them both, in her dire strait
for something to say, for he gave her no assistance,
she began to relate to him the story then publishing
in some minor paper. Poor little woman ! She be-
lieved she had at last succeeded in interesting him ;
he had ceased to fidget. The tale finished, she saw
that her supposed listener was fast asleep. At the
cessation of the sound of her voice, he awoke.

" You mesmerized me, my dear girl," he said.

" By my stupidity," she answered.

He could see how mortified she was. " You must
not learn to be susceptible, Regina. When two per-
sons are to pass their lives together, they must learn
how best to be supportable to each other. Let us
go and take a walk. I am not fit to do anything
to-day."

To be just, it is impossible to insist too much on
the point that Paul was meant by Nature to be a

RIPPLES ON THE LAKE OF MATRIMONY. 179

good painter, and not a domestic man. Like all
persons of strong imagination, he was the easy prey
of ennui. The more poetically gifted the individual,
the more sure is he to create trouble for himself;
and when, added to the poetic gifts, there is a desire
for lame, conjugal tcte-d-tvtes are utterly spoiled.
Art is a jealous mistress, and makes her votaries
intolerably egotistical.

Regina and her husband went to the Champ Ely-
sees. Paul had obeyed a good impulse in proposing
to go out, but he had not enough self-mastery to
force himself to be a pleasant companion.

A multitude on foot, on horseback, in carriages,
were abroad. Great personages and little folks were
mustering in force for the coming winter. The fresh
air, and the gay scene, restored Regina's spirits.
She was as lovely a woman as any to be seen in that
throng, and in Paris men never seem to have any
business which interferes with their leisure to ad-
mire beauty. Paul fumed and fretted as he per-
ceived the many glances of admiration levelled at
his wife.

" How did you come to forget your veil ?" he
asked.

" I never wear one. It's not the fashion."

" You say right. It's never the fashion for women
to be modest."

He stopped, and beckoned to an empty cab.

As he was handing in Regina, a lady on horse-
back, attended by a large party of gentlemen, passed.
The lady pulled up her horse, stared at Regina,

180 A TSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

slightly nodding to Paul, who but slightly lifted
his hat.

" Have you no recollection of who that person
was who looked so earnestly at you ?" asked Paul,
when they were in the cab.

" No, none."

" That was Hortense, my aunt's cook when you
■first came to the Rue Blanche."

" Hortense ? Oh ! I would give anything to be
able to thank her for all her kindness to me. She
was so good to me all the time I was at Passy, never
forgetting to send me beautiful etrennes, that I might
seem as well cared for as the other girls."

" You and Hortense must never have any inter-
course. Let me warn you never to take any notice
of her ; indeed, I believe she will avoid you. Ah !
there goes your grandmother, the Comtesse de Roche-
taillee, in her carriage covered with armorial bear-
ings. She little imao;mes her daughter's dauo-hter
is passing in this shabby cab. Had you married
the greatest idiot among modern vicomtes, she would
have taken you to her bosom. Your marriage with
me is scarcely more respectable, in her eyes, than
your mother's with your father. The faults of the
parent are renewed in the daughter."

" If you had read her letter to Madame Saincere,
you would know how differently she feels. She was
so glad you should marry me !" and Regina slipped
her hand into that of Paul's.

He held it for a minute, then put it aside, saying —

" We must behave ourselves with propriety in

RIPPLES ON THE LAKE OF MATRIMONY. 181

public, even though we belong to the world of art-
ists; neither do I wish to be taken for any one else
than your husband."

It must not be supposed that Paul was always as
little agreeable as on this morrow of the Princess's
dinner. There is a succession of fine days during
which are gathering the elements for a storm; or
there is rainy, tempestuous weather, to be followed
by sunshine. The same alternations occur in our
lives. The teller of a tale cannot note down the
lesser variations, he can only relate the principal
vicissitudes. For a time all went smoothly again
with Regina.

" You spoil that husband of yours," said Madame
Saincere one day to her. The remark was made on
one occasion, when Paul had told his wife he should
be ready to walk with her at two o'clock. Regina
knowing how it vexed him to have to wait, had been
sitting since half-past one in her bonnet and shawl.
"You are too obedient, too slavish, child," went on
Madame Saincere : " there is too little of ecpiality
between you and Paul ; you are afraid to keep him
waiting five minutes, and he does not care though
you should do so for an hour. It's all right to be
obliging, but it does not answer to make a man feel
himself so completely master."

Madame Saincere was a clever woman, but not
well versed in one particular subject. She did not
comprehend that Pegina's conduct was that of a
woman who is not sure of her power.

CHAPTER XVIII.

HINC ILL^E LACHKYMJE.

All Paris — :that is, all in Paris who were worthy
of being counted somebody — one Sunday were to
be congregated in the Church of La Madeleine. A
member of a great Russian family had become a
convert to Catholicism, and was to preach in behalf
of a mission to Honolulu.

Madame Paul Latour had been requested to be
one of the Dames QuStenses, an office answering to
a plate-holder at a church-door in English churches.
Paul, considering the rank and fashion of the lady
from whom the request came, had decided that Re-
gina must accept the invitation. The greater num-
ber of the stronger sex who can be attracted on
such occasions, the greater chance of a large collec-
tion : so rank, or fame, or beauty is a necessary
qualification for a Queteuse.

The first duty each chosen lady performs, is to
despatch a printed circular to all her friends, request-
ing their attendance at a particular church on a par-
ticular day, when so-and-so is to preach in favor of
such-and-such a cause. At the bottom of the circu-
lar is a list of the Qucteases who will parade the
church, presenting a beautiful bag to you, dropping
you a courtesy even for a sous, adding a smile when

HINC ILL/E LACHKYM.K. 183

your donation is a large one. A spirit of emulation
swells the breasts of the Queteuses. It is the ambi-
tion of one and all of them to have collected the
largest sum ; and as women have great faith in the
influence of dress, their toilet for the ceremony is
ever a matter of importance.

" You had better consult Madame de St. Gignoux,"
said Paul, naming the comtesse who had selected
Regina as one of the band of which she was the
leader.

"Do you think I dare?" asked Regina, looking
as if her courage * could never carry her to that
altitude.

" You imagine, perhaps, that because I have paint-
ed Madame de St. Gignoux's portrait, you are to
hold yourself as her inferior," said Paul, stiffly.

" It wasn't that — how could it be ? Don't I think
you superior to the whole world ?" She was stand-
ing by him, and with a shy quick movement she hid
her face on his breast ; whispering, " Every day I
think how wonderful it is you should have taken me
for your wife."

Madame Saincere would have shaken her head
more than ever, had she heard this confession. She
would have said —

" Little goose, if you want this man, or any man,
to care for you, don't let him see his power. Pretend
to a strength, if you have it not; be sulky, passion-
ate, unreasonable, coquettish ; above all, self-asserting
— never gentle and loving.

Paul was, however, for the moment touched ;

184 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

he stroked her hair, and stooping, kissed her fore-
head.

" Yon forgive me, Paul ?"

" What for, petite sotte ? It is I who ought to ask
pardon for interfering with what is quite out of my
province."

" Nothing that concerns me can be out of your
province," returned Regina, with unusual courage.
" I am very grateful to you for taking an interest in
my dress."

She had much better have made him laugh by
declaring she would wear a bright orange gown and
a sky-blue bonnet.

"I don't really attach any importance to your
consulting Madame St. Gignoux ; but if you do, be
prepared for her making you spend plenty of money.
Don't show any backwardness for the sake of some
few hundred francs;" and, tired of the discussion, he
left the room.

Madame la Comtesse de St. Gignoux was a per-
sonage — one of the women whose opinion counted
for something in Paris. She was neither good nor
clever, nor beautiful — one of the beetle-browed
women so often seen in France. She was separated
from her husband, having even renounced his name,
declaring it to be beyond the power of her lips to
pronounce. It was certainly an outlandish name.
She had no friends — cared for no one — loved nothing
on earth but her own self. Neither joy nor sorrow
would have tempted her to go out-of-doors while the

IIIXC ILL/E LACHRYMiE. 185

sun was shining. She declared the sun to be one of
the main causes of wrinkles.

"Can any one," she inquired, " be exposed to sun-
light without screwing up one eye and ruffling up
their brows ? It was ridiculous to suppose that when
you have made similar grimaces a hundred and fifty
times, no trace of them should remain." Carrying
out her theory, in summer she lay in bed all day,
rising at six or seven in the evening, and receiving
visits at eleven at night. She believed she owed
her still smooth complexion to this management.
She was one of those of whom Parisians say, " They
have no age." Some of her intimate enemies as-
serted that she had passed forty, but it w r as a cal-
umny; for she carried a certificate of her baptism
always about her, and that went to prove she wanted
yet two years of that redoubted bourne of youth.

Madame de St. Gignoux received Regina rather
graciously. First of all, she approved of the portrait
Paul had made of her. Secondly, she liked hand-
some, clever men, and Paul was undoubtedly both ;
and then among the shortcomings of this fashionable
lady was not to be counted that of jealousy of other
women's looks. On the contrary, she tried as much
as possible to keep away all the plain or ungraceful
of her female acquaintance from her salons.

It being in the month of November when Regina
paid her visit, Madame de St. Gignoux had no objec-
tion to drive in the afternoon to the house of the
Great Arbiter of Fashion. As they went along she
said —

186 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

" You have a pretty skin," Madame Latour. " I
have not detected a flaw in it yet. Follow my ex-
ample," and then the great lady entered on an ex-
planation of her theory and practice.

" I am afraid Monsieur Latour would not approve
of my remaining in bed all day," replied Regina,
almost laughing.

" If he is painting, what can it matter to him what
you are doing ? I suppose you have servants, haven't
you ?"

Madame St. Gignoux did not take the trouble to
listen to the answer ; her attention had been engaged
by the sight of a beautiful spaniel, which a lady held
by a st ling.

" That's just the dog I want," she exclaimed. " I
wonder where Madame de Juliviere G'ot it ? Do von
know her? Poor woman ! she is not sure that she
hasn't two husbands. The first is said to be alive
somewhere. For my part, I am quite in favor of
divorce. All women ought to be. Considering the
way marriages are made among us, it would be but
bare justice to provide a safe remedy. You are only
just married, I believe, and perhaps you like your
husband pretty well at this moment — he is a novel-
ty ; but suppose you should come to detest him — or
he you? Isn't it awful you should not be able to
get rid of one another ?"

Regina's running commentary on this speech, if
uttered aloud, would have been, "Oh, thank God!
nothing but death can separate us — nothing but
death ! O righteous law !"

HINC ILL^l LACHRYM^. 187

There were two ladies waiting in the great Arbi-
ter's salon. Madame St. Gignoux gave them a
glance: they were not of her world, and therefore
she went on talking to Regina as though they had
not been present.

But Regina's attention wandered; her eyes, in
spite of herself, would turn to the elder of the two
strangers. Her memory was making a painful effort
to recover the name belonging to that striking face.
She was convinced she had ^wn it before.

At last the lady extricated her from her perplexi-
ty. She came forward, saying —

" Has Madame Paul Latour de la Mothe forgotten
me?"

At the sound of the voice, Regina instantly re-
called the name, and exclaiming, "Madame Aubry !"
held out her hand.

Regina returned home so excited by the events of
the afternoon, that she poured out all her informa-
tion pell-mell to her husband : scraps of Madame de
St. Gignoux's conversation mingling with what had
passed between her and Madame Aubry, and with
descriptions of Madame Aubry.

"Mademoiselle Lucile has a nice droll little face.
She is not so pretty as her mother. I am sure she
i< clever. She is not at all like her mother — except
her nose, and that is the worst part of Madame Au-
bry V face. Madame Aubry is very much changed.
I did not recollect her at first."

Paul listened to this chat in silence.

" Changed in appearance, I mean, not in mauner

188 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

Sometimes she spoke quite kindly, and then, all at
once, she was as cold as ice. I don't think she liked
M. W taking me for her daughter."

" It does not say much for his perspicacity," re- _
marked Paul.

" She might be my mother. She is sixteen years
older than I am."

Paul made no answer. He gathered from all Re-
gina said, that Madame Aubry had not mentioned

haviner met him at the Princess M 's dinner.

Some consciousness had kept him silent as to the
meeting, and it appeared that Adeline also had felt
a difficulty in alluding to the circumstance. It
would have been as well had he questioned himself
as to the reason of such a reticence.

On the following day, Madame Aubry and Lucile
came to the Rue Bleue. Regina received them with
that sort of cordiality which has its source in the
recollection of former acquaintanceship. They had
a subject in common — Juvigny. Regina supposed
it a pleasant subject. In her unconsciousness she
really tortured Madame Aubry, not only by the
memories she innocently and ruthlessly aroused, but
by her manner toward Paul ; for Regina had sent
for her husband as soon as Madame Aubry arrived.

Madame Aubry said to herself, in an after medi-
tation, that it was stupid and unjust to resent Re-
gina's wifely familiarity toward Paul — it was so com-
pletely a matter of course ; and yet, good heavens !
how every "we" pronounced by Madame Paul
stabbed her!

HINC ILLM LACHRYM^. 189

Regina, as well as Paul, accompanied Madame
Aubry and her daughter to the carriage ; and Ade-
line, as they drove off, saw Regina put her arm
within her husband's, as together they re-entered the
house.

"I would rather have seen him lying dead,"
thought Adeline.

" How beautiful Madame Paul Latour is !" Lu-
cile was saying ; adding, " and, Mamma, do you
know I think that she and her husband are alike ?"

All those who had been in the habit of seeing
Regina from the time of her marriage, perceived a
striking change in her during this second winter.
That calmness expressed by her whole person, the
more charming as no one could doubt it proceeded
from ignorance of all the little meannesses of so-
ciety, from an absence of all unholy curiosity — that
peculiar calmness had disappeared. In its place was
a look of intense inquiry, the attitude of one always
on the alert.

There are people in every circle whose amuse-
ment it is to watch others, and whose pleasure con-
sists in improvising romantic or scandalous stories
— people who give a meaning to the raising of an
eyebrow, to the choice of a flower, even to the mo-
tion of a foot. It was among this class that first
arose whispers that Madame Latour was unhappy
with her husband ; it was first observed by them,
that however smiling and at her ease she might be,

190 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

the moment Madame Aubry appeared her features
contracted, and that she never shone to less advan-
tage than when that lady was paying her the most
friendly attentions.

Unfortunately, some of these observations were
true. That sort of vague distaste which Regina had
felt toward Madame Aubry on their first meeting
at Juvigny had deepened into distrust. Regina had
lost her childlike ignorance of men and manners.
When she married, she believed that the ceremony
of marriage irrevocably secured her Latour's heart
as well as hand. At first, she saw and heard, with-
out heeding, things tending to enlighten her igno-
rance on this point. But the hour comes sooner or
later when some one plays the part of Psyche's sis-
ter, asking, "Do you know whom it is you love?
Maybe a monster ! You must try and find out."
Then begins the cruel series of hopes and fears, of
doubts and suspicions, out of which the poor seeker
emerges too often with life saved, but treasure lost.

Into this sad period of striving after light and
knowledge Regina had entered ; and it happened to
her, as to other discoverers, that what she had been
groping after in the dark was suddenly revealed to
her by a chance word.

She was at a large evening party, seated next to
two ladies who were strangers to her. They spoke
without any care as to being overheard. The elder
of the two was saying as Regina sat down, " Yes, it's
the first marriage I ever made, and I am quite proud
of it. Both families are pleased."

HINC ILLiE LACHRYM^. 191

" I thought she was to have married Monsieur
Bourdoin," said the younger.

" That went off because his mother thought her
too pretty — thought it would he ridiculous to have
it said that at five-and-thirty he had married for
love, and that he would be safer with one less attrac-
tive."

"No wonder, when one sees what passes every
day and hour. You have heard about the Meil-
lerays ?"

" Good heavens ! How? What? When?"

" The baron came home unexpectedly — you under-
stand — in short, there's a separation."

" I am not astonished. Just look at that handsome
Latour, scarcely a year married, and see how he is
paying court to Madame Aubry."

" An old love — on revient toujours — she is a fin-
ished coquette. It was she who caused the death of
poor de Suzet, one of our Embassy attaches, at St.
Petersburg ; played fast and loose with him, till one
fine day he blew his brains out almost in her sight.
Ah ! Monsieur St. Leu," to a gentleman passing,
" have you heard of the Meillerays ?"

" I saw them in the Bois de Boulogne this after-
noon — he was driving her in his curricle."

" Then there can be no truth in the report of their
being separated ?"

"A grain, just a grain, I suspect."

" Ah ! Well, if they have made it up, it's no busi-
ness of ours what she has done or has not clone."

This conversation was sufficient. All Regina's

192 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

vague suspicions had assumed a shape. She pressed
her hand against her heart to still its throbs of tu-
multuous pain. From that evening the serenity which
had been one of her marked traits, the indication of
a happy equilibrium between duty and affection,
disappeared. Her love for her husband suddenly as-
sumed all the character of a violent passion, and
passion gives supernatural powers — it divines. Re-
gina thought over her visit to Juvigny, and, little
by little, the past of Paul and Adeline Aubry was
revealed to her. Circumstantial evidence crowded
on her. The mutual dislike between Paul's mother
and Madame Aubry; the constant recurrence of Ad-
eline's features in Paul's sketches ; that long roll of
fair hair. Ah, well ! there was no help, she must be-
lieve it; Paul had loved Adeline Aubry ; but now,
though he might show her attention, it could not be
love. Adeline was old for a woman, and had lines
round her eyes and mouth. Girls, nay, even women,
have such a faith in the power of beauty and youth;
they cannot realize the fact that a woman, sometimes
old enough to be their mother, can and may be a
dangerous rival. They do not believe that the years
which steal away freshness from the complexion, or
imprint a line round eyes and mouth, bring knowledge,
and that knowledge of any kind is power. A young
wife is exacting, often cross; a woman such as
Madame Aubry, when she has reached within a few
years of forty, and wishes to please, is always smiling,
flattering forbearing; and if she has to do with the ir-
ritable organization peculiar to poets, painters, or mu-

HINC HUE LACHRYMJE. 193

sicians, knows how to restore to them the confidence
in themselves which in some hour of disappointment
they have lost — knows how to rouse them from those
prostrations of spirit into which they are prone to
fall. Once a man has sipped of the cup of cordial
offered by an enchantress of this kind, her age or ap-
pearance matters little ; her empire over him will be
established.

Regina soon forgot to say —

" It is impossible that he can love a woman of her
age." Thirty-six seems old to twenty-one.

She passed into another phase — that of inner de-
but ings, of fears, doubts, hopes. Backward and for-
ward she turned her thoughts : she lay in wait to
catch a word, a gesture which, she said to herself,
should be decisive. Alas ! only to begin anew ; to
pass from suspicion to hope, from hope to suspicion.
Now lulling asleep the one and awakening the other ;
sometimes believing that she could be resigned, so
long as she might breathe the same air as Paul ; at
others about to resort to some violent step — to leave
him ; the next minute to dread, as the only evil in
life, a separation from him.

Regina's suffering can only be understood by
those who have gone through a similar trial. There
are certain sorrows universally acknowledged, and
which receive universal sympathy — such as loss of
fortune, sickness, death ; but for the anguish arising
from disappointed or deceived affection, the majority,
who being a majority are egotists, content them-
selves with saying — "Oh! a few years will cure all

194 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

that." But the possibility of the cure depends on
the character. Time lias no power over the senti
ments of an earnest soul. For such as Regina —

Time but the impression deeper makes, /

As streams their channel deeper wear. *

It was astonishing how such an appearance of in-
timacy could be kept up between two women who
certainly hated one another. They had only one
feeling in common between them, and that was
exactly the source of their mutual dislike. On every
other point or subject they disagreed. What one
praised the other was sure to find faith; with. They
were always on the alert to contradict one another ;
they found means, in expressing their opinions, to
say the most disagreeable things, the one of the
other. Regina was the least successful in these bat-
tles. She had naturally far less quickness of repartee
than her rival ; her thrusts were often awkward — she
showed too plainly that she was in earnest.

Madame Aubry was the supporter of all the liberal
views of the day ; Regina of those of a former gen-
eration. The gentle young creature was all in favor
of authority ; of the privilege of class ; and most of
all, a devoted partisan of the church. Pure of soul,
and retaining all the naivete of her early belief, she
was positively terrified at the ultra liberality of Ma-
dame Aubry in religion and morals.

Madame Aubry had what Regina was most want-
ing in, a great mastery of language. She could say
everything she wished as she would wish it said*

HINC IULM LLCHBYMiE. 195

even turn Regina into ridicule before Paul, without
exciting :i doubt that she intended to wound his
wife. Regina keenly felt her own want of weapons
with which to defend herself. She was well aware
that Adeline took every opportunity of making her
deficiency apparent. When by any happy chance
Regina's native good sense had given her the advan-
tage, or when Paid, as he occasionally did, sided
with his wife, Madame Aubry, by some clever play
on words, some apt quotation, could always make
him laugh at what he had just approved.

At such moments it was an overpowering dread of
him which stopped Regina from expressing her dis-
pleasure in very plain terms. Once after one of
these bouts Regina, alone with her husband, re-
curred to the discussion, and complained of Adeline's
manner toward her.

But she never did so again, for Latour, who had
been touched by his wife's supposed forbearance,
was irritated to find himself foi'ced either to defend
or to blame Madame Aubry. He did control his
words, but his eyes flashed ominously as he said —

" You are mistaken. She is a hon enfant, free
of all aforethought : her wit springs forth without
malice."

Regina, by blaming, had played into her adver-
sary's hand.

A general feeling of indignation pervaded the little
circle of Paul's intimates, when they perceived the
element of mischief threatening Regina's happiness,
Men of the world, they knew it was not their place

196 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

to interfere openly ; still it was not forbidden them
to make an occasional sortie against the enemy, or
to come to the rescue of the weaker side.

An interest other than that which had made
Georges Tully erect her into the Laura of his sonnets,
was developed in the Don's chivalric breast for Re-
gina. Calling on her one day, he found her alone.
After the first compliments had passed he dropped
into a silence that embarrassed her. But her embar-
rassment was nothing to her astonishment, when he
suddenly addressed her thus —

" If I were going to be married, I should beg my
bride to study Madame Aubry's manners. As a
man, I shall never penetrate the secret of their
charm ; a woman, I suppose, might master it. To
my obtuse male faculties it appears that her object
is always to amuse. She is a sort of Medea chiffo-
niere — gathers up every scrap, no matter from
whence, or how little inviting ; and then, by the
help of her magic cauldron, turns out for our delec-
tation a tissue of variegated hues that dazzle us so
pleasantly we have no inclination to examine of
what the web is composed. I should say to my
wife, 'Do thou likewise.'"

Reflecting afterward on Tully's strange exor-
dium, the j)oor little soul understood the advice he
meant to convey, and turned over in her mind how
to put it in practice. But the Don, in giving his
counsel, had forgotten some essential disadvan-
tages attached to Regina. First of all, she was
Latour's wife, and further, she loved him with that

HINC ILUE LACHEYMiE. 197

blind, timid love, which women feel but once in
their existence. Her excess of feeling hampered
her. He was the sole good heaven or earth could
give her — the world without him a blank. She was
always on the watch, how not to annoy or offend
him ; how then could she laugh or talk at random ?
The woman who can do this is either sure of her
empire or else indifferent.

Madame Aubry was not at all the latter, and
pretty sure of the former. She loved Paul as well
as her nature permitted. When she saw him, her
love even acquired a certain intensity. But she had
done without him very well for years ; and though
her conduct had been what is called correct, it was
a correctness which had not prevented her having
very sedulous admirers. That enfant terrible Lucile
had one day said to a visitor, " I don't know whether

M. T comes for mamma or for me ;" and this

was said in the lifetime of Monsieur Aubry.

Regina set earnestly about to copy Madame Au-
bry. She followed Tully's advice too literally.
She strove to collect all sorts of gossip, which she
retailed to Paul in and out of season. Paul bore this
novelty as he did Regina's religious observances — ■
with a resigned silence. However, there came a
moment when his pent-up irritation exploded.

One day that he was extremely busy, his wife in-
terrupted him with some frivolous story. He turned
sharply on her, saying —

" I should be glad if you would sometimes grant
me a little liberty to be alone."

198 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

" I beg your pardon, Paul," said Regina, chang-
ing color, for his look and tone were more bitter
than his words.

'* I see you think me very barbarous ; but, my
dear friend, if two people are to live comfortably
together, they must have a mutual respect for each
other's ways, habits, whims, or whatever you please
to call them. I am very glad of your company, but
there must be a measure in all things ; and I confess
it would be a comfort to me to be sure of now and
then having an hour to myself."

The vexation of weeks had at last made itself
known.

" I will go directly," and Regina began gathering
up her work and books, for lately she had estab-
lished herself daily in a corner of the atelier. Per-
haps she lingered a little in the hope that Paul
would tell her she need not remove her work-basket,
but he remained silent,

" Then you mean me never to come here ?" she
said, as she was leaving the room.

" On the contrary, come as often as you please.
I object only to our remaining together all day long.
A sort of moral unhealthiness arises from two per-
sons being always together. Moderation is neces-
sary even in what is good."

Reo-ina went out to her own room with a heart
bursting with grief and mortification.

" I weary him ! I weary him !" she kept on ex-
claiming. "What can I do? I can't change
myself. There's something about me downright

HINC ILLIE LACHITOLE. 199

disagreeable to him. I feel it. Iknowit. How grave
he always is with me ■ How his eyes, brighten when
he sees her! To love him, and know 1 am only a
bore to him ! It's horrible to be a load to a man.
If I were (lead he could marry Madame Anbry."

Regina did not yet wish herself dead. That wish
is born with the first knowledge of the treachery of
one trusted and loved. Our hearts die by inches,
slowly. On that day Paul's wife felt the first throe
of the death-agony of hers. Paul was not easy in
his mind. He was no monster, no ; merely a man
such as every one numbers among his acquaintance —
one to whom hitherto no disloyal action could be
brought home, yet given, as we all are, to self-
deception. Finding, by some sleight of logic, that
not to be wrong in himself which he would have
condemned in another, he said —

u I render to Csesar that which is Caesar's. I take
nothing from Regina because I enjoy Madame Au-
bry's society. Wives are always anxious to make
their husbands give up their former friends." Still,
exonerate himself as he would, Paul was uncomfort-
able in his mind. He confessed to himself he had
been too harshly candid with Regina. Poor young
thing ! so innocent and so loving. Ought she to be
punished because he had found out his mistake in
marrying her? And why was it a mistake ? Because
he had not taken into his calculations that a girl of
twenty would require some warmer sentiment than
that of good-will ; that it would be depriving her of
the jewel without price of her heritage, to erase

200 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

love from her life ; that nature would assert her
rights. And now that he had robbed this young
creature of the best joy of her existence, mutual
love, he had added unkindness and contempt to the
deprivation.

It is something in his favor, some mitigation of
his conduct, that he was not self-contented.

CHAPTER XIX.

CLOUDS AND MIST.

Madame Aubry gave a ball. The rooms were, as
chroniclers of balls phrase it, crowded with rank,
beauty, and fashion.

" Celebrities of all sorts — from princesses down to
that woman who can play the harmonium and the
piano at the same time."

This was what Lucile Aubry, dressed, by-the-by,
quite as a little girl, said to Regina, behind whom
she was standing.

" That," continued the young lady, " is the man
who wrote the famous story about Italy. He says
that women who are fond of dress have been pea-
cocks in a world before this."

" Oh ! who can that be ?" exclaimed Regina with
a start, and directing Lucile's attention to a person
who was just then entering the room. No wonder
she asked. The lady she pointed out was a tall,
dark old woman, dressed in black, with a crown of
thorns in jet on her head. Her still black hair sadly
required smoothing; it seemed standing on end.
The strangest shades lay over her face — such shades
as you see on bronze.

This person walked leisurely round the salons, car-
rying her gloves in her hand. From time to time

202 A TSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

she stopped to examine any one who attracted her
notice.

" Who is she ?" again whispered Regina.

" Heaven knows !" returned Lucile. " She looks
like the bad fairy, who has not been invited to the
royal christening."

"What christening?" said Regina.

" Oh ! don't you remember the story ?" . . .

The " bad fairy" was close upon them. She stood
still and scanned Regina from head to foot, in a cool
way, that nearly choked Lucile with laughing. After
this inspection the woman in black pursued her way.

" I must find out who she is," said Mademoiselle
Aubry, and glided into the thickest of the crowd.

" What rubbish this Russian woman has gathered
together !" said a voice close to Retina's ear. It
was Madame de St. Gignoux. " She's well dressed,
though," as the hostess came more fully into view.

Madame Aubry was in one of those moments
which women who have reached the line dividing
youth from middle age occasionally enjoy. She
looked as young and brilliant as she had done ten
years before. She was in white, and wore a coronal
of daisies in her hair.

Her appearance at once recalled to Regina a sketch
of Paul's, under which was written, " Paquerette."
Regina remembered something else also. She re-
membered in the first days of her marriage saying
to Paul, " Put your foot on that daisy, and you will
not die this year," and his loud exclamation of

CLOUDS AND MIST. 203

" Not for worlds ! / put my foot on a daisy —
Never /"

Madame de St. Gignoux interrupted these reminis-
cences. " But dressing like a girl cannot make her
look like one— a woman with a grown-up daughter
might spare herself the trouble. She takes arsenic
for her complexion, you know."

Here a pretty young English girl, whose portrait
Paul had lately painted, came running up to Regi-
na. " Madame Latour, as you are Madame Aubry's
friend, you won't mind asking her, will you, who is
her hair-dresser, and what sort of petticoat she wears?
Her dress hangs divinely. I would give anything
to know."

"You are Madame Aubry's intimate friend?"
questioned Madame de St. Gignoux, raising her
great eyebrows to the highest arch of surprise, and
all her features one sneer. " Pleasant family arrange-
ment."

" Would you like to make a tour of the rooms,
Madame Latour ?" said Georges Tully. " You must
be tired of sitting so long in one place."

Regina thankfully accepted his arm. She wanted
to get away from Madame de St. Gignoux's mali-
cious company.

Many a murmur of admiration greeted Regina as
she moved along. More than one comment was
made on Latour's good luck. The tall gentleman
who had written " that famous story about Italy,"
said to the painter —

204 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

" Beautiful, modest, and rich. You have drawn
the prize out of the bag of blanks."

" That is Paul Latour de la Mothe, the painter.
Is it not '?" asked an unknown voice.

Ilegina looked up and saw the woman in black
by her side.

Madame Paul said, " Yes."

"And, no doubt, the lady at whose side he has
been all the evening is his wife ; the daughter of
Xolopoeus, the fiddler, and granddaughter of the
Comte and Comtesse de Rochetaillee. I may tell
those anxious about Madame Paul, that she is as be-
loved as she is beautiful."

The speaker curtsied and moved on, still holding
her black gloves in her dark wrinkled hands. Re-
gina watched the crown of thorns moving above the
heads of the crowd.

People stood up to see the strange woman as she
passed —

" Good heavens ! she must be mad ! What can
make her wear such a curious thing on her head ?"

Some said, " She was an English duchess ; others
declared her to be an American authoress. Some
an Indian Princess come to Paris to petition the Em-
peror to redress the wrongs she had suffered from
the British Government. No one ever discovered
who she was : perhaps she was one of Regina's
gipsy relations. Who knows ?"

" It's very hot," sighed Regina.

Georges Tully led her away to a glass door open-
ing on a balcony.

CLOUDS AND BUST. 205

"Are you afraid of the night air?"

"No; I arn sick with the heat," Bhe replied.

They went into the balcony.

It was a clear frosty night ; the dark-blue sky
spangled all over with shining stars. Above, all
bright — below, all sombre ; trees, flowers, grass, one
vague obscurity.

Regina stood so wrapt in her own perplexed feel-
ings, that she was unconscious she was leaning on
the Don's arm, unconscious that he was murmuring
one of his odes — something mystic, which accorded
well enough with the hour and scene. Any looker-
on might have mistaken the couple for lovers. Some
who peeped into the balcony smiled and wondered
" where M. Latour might be ?"

Paul himself, at last, bethought him of looking for
Regina. lie sought and found her standing as she
had done for longer than she knew. As soon as
she saw her husband, Regina said, without remov-
ing her hand from Georges Tully's arm —

" Is it time to go ? I hope so. I am tired, and
the heat is overpowering."

" Not here, at least," retorted Paul. " Come, don't
monopolize Tully any longer."

" I am quite at Madame Latour's service," said
Georges, stiffly.

" Thank you, my dear friend ; I see my wife is
dying to get away. Au revoir" and Paul carried
off Regina, still utterly unconscious that her hus-
band was in a white rage with her, Tully, and man-
kind in general.

206 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

Paul would not wait until the carriage could be
got up to the door ; he insisted on their going in
search of it themselves. He had withdrawn his arm
from Regina, and somehow or other she slipped and
fell. Half-a-dozen coachmen and footmen ran to
help her, asking anxiously if she were hurt. Paul
stood by without making even an inquiry.

" Voild au particidier qui adore sa petite fernme"
said one of the bystanders — an ironical remark
which elicited a burst of laughter.

Regina's heart rose at Paul's marked indifference ;
for the first time she felt anger toward him. Xot a
syllable passed between them during the drive home.
She jumped out of the coach without touching his
extended hand, ran up stairs, took a light from Jo-
seph without heeding his salutation, and went at
once to her own room. It was a wise thing to do
in her state of excitement ; and it would have been
a wiser to remain there and let the healing wings of
night pass over her perturbed feelings. But when
was a young and loving woman ever wise ?

Paul was scarcely in his dressing-room before Re-
gina entered it. She was magnificent in her anger.
The artist's eye was struck by the grandeur of her
beauty, but the man armed himself against the scene
he foresaw.

" What do you want, Regina ?" he asked, coldly,
and with eyes so full of displeasure, so mocking a
smile on his lips, that the poor thing lost all her
courage.

CLOUDS AND MIST. 207

"Oh, Paul! Paul!" she said clinging to his arm
" Why did you marry me ?"

"My dear, it is two o'clock in the morning. I
am tlying of sleep, allow me to postpone the answer
to your question till to-morrow."

She turned at bay. "It is not fair, not honorable,
not gentlemanly, to use me as you do. I could for-
give you, yes, I could, if you gave me a worthy
rival, but— for — an — old coquette — bah !"

He seized her arm. " You had better stop," he
said. " Go to bed ! Go to bed ! You have been im-
prudent enough once already this evening." She
stared at him. "Tongues wag freely, Madame La-
tour, when ladies remain ttte-d-ttte with gentlemen
in a dark balcony. I knoAv you meant no harm.
You have simply given occasion for a laugh at my
expense, and now, in self-defence I suppose, you try
to force a quarrel on me. Understand once for all,
that I am not a booby, nor yet a toy for a woman to
play with. I am not going to allow you to dictate
to me. I shall do as I please, and you had better
conform yourself to rny wishes." He had hitherto
spoken in a calm, though bitter tone — now his voice
and face betrayed rising passion. " There are
certain attacks I will not bear — be warned — go to
bed."

" What had I done that you should see me fall,
and not help me V 1 '

" You were not hurt. You cannot expect an
angry man to be playing the gentle shepherd."

208 a psyche or to-day.

" But I had clone nothing."

" Nothing !" he repeated, " when you had flirted
all the evening ; when you had insulted the woman
in whose house you were?"

"I— I insulted her?"

"Yes, madame, in ways which all women, even
the least gifted, have at their command. Your whole
conduct throughout the whole evening was an insult
to her. Do you mean to tell me you did not avoid
her — markedly so ?"

Instead of attacking, Regina was forced to act on
the defensive.

" I assure you, Paul — "

He interrupted her, all the devil in him roused.

" You think I have been blind. I wished to be so.
I hoped you would come to your senses, but as you
choose war, war it shall be, and blame nobody but
yourself for the consequences."

The magnificent ireful queen was turned into a
poor little cowering girl.

" Oh, Paul ! don't speak to me in that voice—
don't look at me as if you hated me. I have tried
not to — to care."

" Care ! humbug !"

Woman's pride, woman's love both wounded.
She gave him one look, such as a faithful spaniel re-
ceiving his death-blow from his master's foot might
give, and trembled out of the room.

That was how Regina's first attempt to vindicate
her right to the first place in her husband's heart
ended. Love is not strong except to suffer. The

CLOUDS AND MIST. 209

one who loves is ready to bear all, save the breaking

of the chain of slavery.

Within a few hours, Madame Aubry had become
acquainted with what had passed on the night of her
ball between Latour and his wife. She had drawn
from Paul an account of all that had been said. He
had owned that Regina was jealous.

Madame Aubry listened to him with eyes, those
eyes he had loved so well, eyes that had taught hia
heart to beat, with an expression in them he had
never seen, and that he shrank from qualifying.

Adeline was seated on one side of the tire, Paul
opposite to her. Out of doors, it was a raw Jan-
uary day — in that salon, the atmosphere was of an
Italian spring day. Without, sparrows with droop-
ins wing were searching for food amid mud and
slush, many men and women shivering with cold,
wondering how they were to dine. Within, gold-
colored canaries in gilded cages, a lovely woman in
soft warm raiment, all about her bespeaking luxury
and elegance.

There was a long silence ; Paul, quite unconscious-
ly, busying himself with the fire. He had taken the
tongs, and was, to all appearance, intent on inserting
bits of half-burnt wood between the large blazing-
loo's. Those accustomed to wood-fires will under-
stand how he was occupied, and also what a degree
of intimacy his occupation implied.

It was Madame Aubry who first spoke, and in her
harshest staccato voice. " You mean to say that she
is jealous of me."

210 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

He turned from the fire and looked at her, anx-
iously.

She continued, "And you have come to give me
warning that we must cease to see one another, to
tell me that your wife's caprices must be respected."

Paul shrugged his shoulders, and answered, cold-

" Are all women alike unreasonable ? I came to
you for counsel and sympathy, and you seem in-
clined to play as childish a part as Regina."

" I am a woman, and not an angel," she said, soft-
ly — oh ! so softly caressing !

He took his eyes away from her with a start.

She went on with vibrations in her voice that sent
a subtle fire through his every vein. " I am ready
to do whatever you think best for your comfort. I
would give you, if I could, all my share of happiness
now and forever."

Some inarticulate sounds issued from his lips.

She, as if moved by an uncontrollable impulse, as
if long-restrained feelings would burst forth, ex-
claimed, " Paul, do you remember when I was Pa-
querette for you ! Oh ! those happy, happy days !
My marriage was not my doing ; you know it. You
gave me up — yes — you did, you loved art more than
me. I wished to wait. My mother said, if two or three
years more went over my head, my freshness would
be faded ; and with my small dot, it would be more
difficult to marry me. And then, just when I was
again free, came your marriage. I would rather
have heard of your death. There are griefs which

CLOUDS AND MIST. 211

ought to kill, Imt which fail to do so. 1 deceived
myself when I thought you had nothing to do with
my wish to come to Paris. What I felt on our first
meeting ought to have warned me to avoid you ;
but have I ever — tell me — have I ever sought to —
to — " She paused.

His whole soul, heart, and body were as wax in
her hands. Just enough truth in her words to give
them unerring power ; just little enough of love not
to rob her of all her tact.

Paul's face, as she put her last question, was hid
in his hands. She came and sat down by him. He
held out his hand to her; she clasped it in both hers,
bent down her head, laying her cheek on it, then
her lips.

" Oh ! my God — my God !" she heard him mutter.

She had no compassion on him. She wanted to
make him suffer — it was very sweet to revenge her-
self.

She kept his hand prisoner, and with one of her
taper-fingers traced the letters of his name on the
upturned palm. Paul had forgotten Regina's ex-
istence.

Chance befriended him in sending Lucile to end
the tete-d-tete.

Madame Aubry did not yield to Paul's effort to
withdraw his hand as the young girl appeared. She
held it firmly, and called out, " Come here, ma
2)etite • I want to show you something in M. La-
tour's hand."

Lucile did not obey the call. She said —

212 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

" Monsieur Pictis wants to speak to you, mamma.
He says it is of no use his giving me any more les-
sons ; that you might as well throw your money out
of the window, for that I have no more ear for music
than a fish."

" Very frank and disinterested on his part," said
Madame Auhry, smiling sweetly on her daughter.
" Well, my heart, give him up."

" I don't need to do that," said Lucile. " He
gives me up."

" It is much the same, is it not, little Opposi-
tionist ?"

"I don't think so, mamma. Then I may tell him
you agree ?"

" Perfectly. Ask how many lessons you have had."

Lucile went away without addressing so much as
a look of recognition to Latour.

" She is such a strange girl ; so difficult to man-
age," observed the mother.

" Strange ! In what way ?" asked Paul.

" Possessed by a spirit of contradiction, and jeal-
ous of me ! almost sure to dislike all those I prefer,
and vice versd. For instance, she adores her fat,
ugly governess, whom I detest, and will not hear of
parting with her."

"And I am no favorite?" said Paul.

" You were, but if she has taken it into her head
that you have any influence with me, she will prob-
ably take an antipathy to you."

" Not to excite her ill-will further, I will say good-
bye now."

CLOUDS AND MIST. 213

" Sans adieu !" said Madame Aubry.

" Sans adieu !" he returned.

Poor Lucile ! she had been brought up in a bad
school ; she had come to understand Madame Aubry,
and this young girl of sixteen had set herself the
uncommon task of protecting her mother.

It is easy to imagine how uncomfortable matters
were in the Rue Blene. Hypocrisy was not among
Paul's faults. He attempted none with Regina.
His heart had turned against her. Prejudice can-
not see clearly, aversion is totally blind ; and at this
time, Paul actually disliked his wife. He manifested
toward her a constant disapprobation, betrayed not
so much by words or overt acts, as by looks and
gestures.

It is possible to live tolerably well with those who
are indifferent to you, however opposed their senti-
ments and tastes may be to yours; but with one
whom you love, even silence warns you of an oppo-
sition of feeling that cuts you to the quick.

At times Resrina was moved to make her husband
see how much she suffered. She thought it would
be a consolation to say to him, "Try and understand
how wretched I am." But the expression of his face,
when they were alone, either mocking or stern,
frightened the words of her intended appeal out of
her head.

All this time Latour observed the proprieties of
life. He appeared with his wife at every public
resort consecrated by fashion. He went to mass
with her, to the Italiens, to the Opera. She was al-

214 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

ways present at the first representation of any theat-
rical piece of note. She was well dressed.

Young women of her acquaintance said to her,
" What an enviable person you are !"' and Regina

smiled assent.

The strength of her love bore her up during this
season of trial.

Deep love, mid all its wayward pain,
Cannot believe but it is loved again.

CHAPTER XX.

A SIGNIFICANT SILENCE.

All at once, the world began to whisper about
Madame Aubiy, to couple her name with that
of Paul Latour. Like the wind that bloweth, and
you know not from whence it cometh, were these
rumors. Their unknown source was in an apartment
under the same roof with that of Madame Aubry.

In the Champs Elysees you may have remarked
a very large house — mansion we should call it if it
were inhabited by one family. It contains many
suites of splendid apartments, let unfurnished, and
in general to foreigners, i. e. t to Russians and
English. A vast^or^e cochbre divides the building
into two parts. Madame Aubry had the premier to
the right of the entrance, Madame St. Omer that to
the left. Each division had a separate staircase.
Madame Aubry's visitors ascended by escalier A;
th< >se of Madame St. Omer by escalier B. Each stair-
ease had its peculiar concihrge.

Madame St. Omer was that same beautiful llor-
tense who, three lustres ago, had half broken her
heart because Paul Latour would not take her to
Rome with him. She wielded a sceptre, such as it was,
in Paris, and 31 ad a me Aubry was unfortunate in hav-
ing her for so near a neighbor.

216 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

With the career of Hortense from the time of her
leaving Madame Saincere up to tins date we have
nothing to do. The thread of her life now gets en-
tangled with that' of the lives of those two who had
possesesd her purest youthful affections, Paul andRe-
gina. The gossip of the two porters' lodges ascended
to her through her lady's-maid, and it set her to
using her own eyes. Women are contradictory be-
ings. Madame Auhry would rather have seen Paul
dead than married, would have condoned any other
act than that ; Hortense could forgive his marriage,
but no other tie. She retained besides a lingering
interest in Regina.

And now it is easy to comprehend how, with
Hortense under the same roof, Madame Aubry
be^an to be talked of wherever men of the world
congregated.

Adeline treated the matter very lightly to Paul.

" Let them talk," she said, " it will be an affair of
nine days. There never would have been a word
said had your wife not ceased to come and- see me."

Upon this hint Paul acted. When he returned to
dinner he asked Regina " why she never went now to
see Madame Aubry ?"

Regina answered, " As you were angry with me,
I supposed she would be so also."

" What do you mean by that ?"

" Paul, why do you look at and speak to me so an-
grily ? I am ready to do anything you desire."

" Your own heart should dictate your conduct.
Do you think it right to neglect a person who has al-

A SIGNIFICANT SILENCE. 217

ways treated you kindly, and is one of your hus-
band's earliest friends?"

" I will go and see her to-morrow."

Paul and Regina were each acting weakly and in-
sincerely. Nothing leads more certainly to a deteri-
oration of character than to live in a state of contin-
ual deception. Stirling our convictions, struggling
to conceal our real sentiments, hiding our honest
disapprobation, setting forth one motive, and acting
from another, are all things that take virtue out of
us. We end by losing faith in others, because we
have lost it in ourselves.

Regina paid her visit, and, to outsiders, the inti-
macy between the two families had never been
shadowed by a cloud of disagreement. Indeed,
Madame Aubry and Regina were seen almost con-
stantly together in public. It is surprising what
hearts can bear, and not break.

That lovely, pale, dark-eyed Regina on the left of
Paul at the theatre, so tranquil in appearance, is en-
during a slow torture. There is nothing trifling in
love ; and it is torture to her to sit there and feel
that Paul has no thought of her — to see him address
all his observations to Madame Aubry on his right,
toward whom he leans as naturally as the willow
to water.

The world is too greedy of scandal to have its ap-
petite easily satisfied, and in spite of the apparent
intimacy between Mesdames Latour and Aubry, the
world talked.

Madame Saincere, who had vainly tried to win

218 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

Regina's confidence on the subject, turned to Paul,
and gave him her opinion roundly. She did not
spare him or Madame Aubry.

" So Regina has been complaining to you," he
said.

" Not a syllable of complaint has passed her lips."

" If she has not complained, then, I suppose she
is contented. My dear aunt, let us alone and we
shall do very well. My friendship for Madame Au-
bry has nothing in it that intrudes on my wife's
rights. You don't mean to condemn me to no other
female companionship than that of my quiet, silent
Regina ? Had I understood that marriage was to
debar me the society of clever women, I should be
still a bachelor."

" You forget that I am aware of your former pas-
sion for Madame Aubry ; that I was, I may say, in
the confidence of you both. She can never be a safe
friend for you. If she had a grain of good sense
or good feeling she would have kept out of your
way. Instead of which, she is killing your wife
by inches, and showing to the world how well she
can play that great fish, Paul Latour."

Paul left the Rue Blanche in a high state of exas-
peration, and of course went straight to Madame
Aubry and told her all that had passed. Adeline
mused awhile, then said —

"Do you iliink our friendship worth some pres-
ent discomfort ?"

"A curious question from you to me," said Paul,
adding, "It is for you to decide ; the world, as you

A SIGNIFICANT SILENCE. 219

know, is always harder on a woman than on a

man."

"The world is always gracious to those who do not
fear it," she returned. "Besides, as long as Regina
and I are on good terms there is no danger. She has
been less cold to me lately. I have discovered many
charming qualities in her ; and she is certainly a
pretty creature."

" How good and generous you are !" exclaimed
Paul, clasping her hand. " Not a word of reproach
or bitterness for those who attack you — only kindli-
ness for your enemies. You are a better Christian
than any of them, though they profess so much, and
make such a show of piety."

There was no more mention of Regina that day.
Madame Aubry skilfully turned the conversation to
Paul himself — that is, to his pictures. Written down,
what she said would appear nauseating flattery; but
spoken with grace and enjouement, the object of it
found it very palatable.

Had Madame Aubry's love for Paul reawakened ?
Though her life had depended on her telling the
truth, she could not have decided whether it was
love or hatred she felt for him. Sometimes the one
feeling predominated, sometimes the other. But,
leaving aside love and hatred, Adeline was a true
coquette. There was a struggle to take Paul from
her, and it determined her to hold him fast at all
risks; besides, Regina loved him, that was the
weight which sufficed to make the balance of her
scruples kick the beam.

220 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

One morniiio- Regina received an anonymous let-
ter ; it began abruptly —

" A well-wisher of Madame Paul Latour begs to
tell her that the part of the patient Griselcla, which
she is now playing, will not succeed. There is no
common sense in it. Such meekness merely serves
to weary men. She who keeps in the background,
abdicating her right place, will soon be overlooked.
Be more of a woman. Show him you can be happy
without him. Take exactly the contrary manner to
that of your rival; drive him wild with jealousy;
laugh at him and his pictures, and I promise you
he will soon come to your whistle."

Regina read this effusion twice over; wondering
whom it could come from. It must have been
written by some one intimate in the house. Every
word implied a knowledge of Paul's indifference for
her — Burgmiiller perhaps ? Regina had often seen
his German blue eyes fixed on her with compassion ;
but no, the hand was familiar to her, and it was not
his. At last it flashed on her, who her unknown
adviser was. It was Hortense. Yes, the writing
was the same as that on the New Year's gifts she
had received regularly up to the time of her mar-
riage. Regina's face crimsoned as she thought of
her domestic affairs being commented on and criti-
cised, herself discussed and pitied in the circles of a
certain world. It was clear to her that many among
those she received in her salon visited persons of a
very different stamp. Her whole heart rose against
advice proffered to her from such a quarter. She

A SIGNIFICANT SILENCE. 221

was too young to be indulgent; too inexperienced
to know that none are all evil. In that moment, of
indignation she forgot all Horteuse's past kindness.
Suppose Paul should come in and ask whom her letter
was from ? She thrust it into the fire.

Not long after this, Madame Aubry had a revela-
tion by a significant silence. She received no invi-
tation to the Princess M 's fancy ball. Feminine

instinct pointed unerringly to her intimacy with
Latour, as the cause of the omission. Yet she had
never violated any of the proprieties ; had conformed
to the exigencies of society's laws. Some inimical
influence was at work against her. She had talked
to Paul of defying the world. Yes, that is Regina
and Regina's intimates, but not the court and prin-
cesses. There was not passion enough left in her
love for that. And besides, would Paul remain
uninfluenced by public opinion ? She said to herself
bitterly enough — " He cares more for the success of
one of his pictures than for any woman breathing."
Thinking thus, was it not strange that she held so to
him?

Madame Aubry's behavior to Latour at this
period singularly resembled that of Regina, and yet
impossible for the same result to have more contrary
motives. Adeline maintained an unbroken silence
as to the mortifications inflicted on her. Not an
allusion to any neglect. It was only when Paul,
taking it for granted that she was to be at the fancy
ball, proposed that she and Regina should go to-
gether, that she told him she had not been invited.

222 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

" How is that ?" he exclaimed.

" Some caprice, probably."

" Nonsense ; it must be some mistake ; the invita-
tion has been lost."

" Possibly, but it is of no consequence. Has
Regina decided on her dress ? Is it to be Swiss,
Greek, or Italian ? A Roman costume would suit
her best."

" You are concealing something from me. If I
thought any slight was meant to you my wife should
not go."

Madame Aubry always winced when he said, " My
wife."

" Don't be childish, Paul ; if a slight is intended,
the best way to make it innocuous, is not to appear
to understand it. Any demonstration of anger on
your part would be injurious to you and me. You
must not make yourself enemies among those in high
places. Let me alone, I can defend myself. Those
who have a clear conscience can afford to wait for
justice."

Madame Aubry sent Paul away that day more
than ever impressed with her greatness of soul, and
with her devotion to himself. He did honestly credit
her with a rare power of self-sacrifice. He who had
given her up in the heyday of youth for the sake of
art, was now ready to offer her unlimited service.
He perceived, and enthusiastically appreciated in
her the self-same conduct which passed unnoticed in
Hegina. His self-deception went so far that he had
taken up the notion that he owed something like

A SIGNIFICANT SILENCE. 223

reparation to Madame Aubry for his having a wife.
He argued, as madmen do, from false premises.

Since the day Paul had dismissed her so cavalierly,
Regina had never gone to the painting-room unless
obliged by some circumstance to do so. She was,
nevertheless, perfectly aware that Madame Aubry
visited Paul there constantly. Indeed he never con-
cealed the fact.

It was one April morning that Joseph came to the
salon, and told " Madame that Monsieur would be
glad if she would go to him in the atelier."

Regina went with a beating heart. Madame Au-
bry was standing before the fire, and Paul had a
letter in his hand.

" I have just waited to give you my congratula-
tions," said Madame Aubry, kissing Regina. "I
shall leave Latour to explain."

She left the room, saying hastily to Paul —

" I can find my way by myself. Go back and tell
her at once."

CHAPTER XXL

DARK SHADOWS FLEE.

As Paul came toward Regina, he was startled by
her excessive paleness. Madame Saincere's words,
" You are killing your wife by inches," flashed across
his mind. Not only was she pale, her face had lost
all its roundness, and her features had a pinched
look.

" What is it you are to tell me ?" said Regina, in
a voice sharpened by emotion.

" No bad news !" he said, but hesitated.
Regina's eyes were fixed anxiously on his.
"There is no need of preparation," he went on.
" The Emperor of Russia has sent me (I owe it to
Madame Aubry) a gracious invitation to go to St.
Petersburg to paint the Empress's portrait, and some
pictures for her majesty's summer palace."

" Yes, and wfiat more ?" said Regina, and he saw
her lips quiver violently.

" Well, of course I must accept. It will only be
an absence of two or three months. It would be the
height of folly to refuse such a proposal ; and you
have too much ffood sense to wish that I should do
so. I shall go to Russia, instead of to Greece, as I
had intended. An artist must have change of scene

DARK SHADOWS FLEE. 225

from time to time, to nourish his imagination. My
absence will be now, instead of later in the year."

"And does — " Regina paused, then said, hastily,
" Do you go alone ?"

Paul had perfectly understood the drift of her
question ; but he answered as if he had not. He
said, coldy —

" I thought you would understand without my
pointing them out, all the inconveniences, or rather,
impracticabilities, of your accompanying me. The
wives of soldiers and sailors, of engineers, are all com-
pelled to submit to long and painful separations from
their husbands, and those of artists are often placed
in the same predicament."

Regina suddenly threw her arms round Paul's
neck, and burst into a passion of tears. He let her
head lie on his breast till he felt that she no longer
trembled so convulsively, then he said —

" I am sorry that what I consider a signal piece of
good fortune should distress you."

She clung closer to him, whispering —

" Paul, you do care a little for me ?"

"Why should you doubt it? But, my dear Re-
gina, we are living in a very matter-of-fact world —
not in Arcadia."

Tone and words stabbed her ; her arms fell from
his neck.

" My idea of a wife's love," he continued, " is that
she should smooth, to the utmost of her ability, the
ruggedness of her husband's path."

"You are hard on me, Paul, very hard."

226 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

" That's what women always say when men don't
agree with them."

"I have done my best^" began Regina.

" Pray," interrupted Paul, " let us have no recrim-
ination. I make no complaints of you."

" Paul" — and Regina seized his hands — " can you
honestly say I have not done all I could to please
you ? Have I not overcome my feelings ? have I not
over and over again borne in silence what almost
broke my heart ?"

" You surprise me ! I did not know I was such a
monster, and you such a heroine."

" God forgive you !" she exclaimed. " You are
cruel ; and it is Madame Aubry makes you so."

" Dare to say that again," he said, roughly seizing
her wrist, " and, by the God that made me, you
shall repent it as long as you live !" He pulled her
to the window. " Do you see that sky, this earth ?
She is as superior to you as the one is higher than
the other. I take heaven to witness that she has
never said one harsh word of you, though reasons
for doing so have not been .wanting. Remember
this, madame, you will never get me to change my
conduct to her. I reverence and esteem her beyond
all other women. Decide on your conduct. Mine
will depend on yours."

Regina made no reply. She left the room with a
steady step ; but the steadiness only lasted as long
as she was under Paul's eye. She went to her own
room, put on her bonnet and cloak, and left the
house. She had no definite purpose in going out.

DARK SHADOWS FLEE. 227

She wanted movement — quick movement; her mind
was a chaos. People, as they passed, turned to gaze
after her, so strangely bright and eager were her
eyes — like those of one hotly pursued straining to
reach a goal.

Poor soul ! desolation was chasing her — it was
treading behind her with silent footstep, fanning her
with " silent wing." On she went ; crossed the noisy,
dangerous Boulevard ; along the Rue de la Paix ;
the Place Vendome ; the Rue Castiglione ; on — on ;
through the Tuileries Gardens ; on — on ; never stop-
ping till forced to do so by a block of cai-riages on
the Quay d'Orsay. She turned to one side and got
on Solferino Bridge. She leaned against the para-
pet, watching the water moving sluggishly below.
The early spring day was darkening into twilight,
and a sharp wind made pedestrians hurry on their
way, otherwise it would have been impossible but
that a woman so young and striking in appearance
must have attracted general notice.

During a momentary intermission of the stream of
wayfarers, a stout man, nothing of his face visible
but a pair of keen light blue eyes, turned to take a
second look of the figure in so pathetic and pictur-
esqxie an attitude. The next instant he was by
Regina's side, exclaiming, " 3Ion Tieu ! e'est cette
chhre Matanie Baul, ah, chere Matame," and then he
paused in very real alarm. In that dim light Re-
gina looked to him quite spectral.

" What is it ? What has happened ? Where is
your husband ?"

228 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

" Take me away," said Regina, " I am so tired."

" Ah ! where is a coach ?" he exclaimed. " Mon
Tieu, I will run for one."

Burgmuller had reached the end of the bridge,
when he ran hack again, urged by a sudden fear.
Retina had resumed the attitude which had first
drawn his attention, but she was leaning further
over the parapet, and he perceived that she had got
up on the ledge of the pilasters. As Burgmuller
reached her on one side, a sergent de mile came upon
the other, and taking hold of her arm, politely in-
vited her to change her position.

"Take me away, Monsieur Burgmuller," she said,
in a faint voice, holding out her hands to him with
the gesture of a frightened child.

" Here is my card and address, my friend," said
Ernst, giving his card to the man in office. " I know
this lady and her friends. I will take her home ; if
one could only have a coach, but in this Babylon
there's nothing but noise to be had."

The sergent de mile hailed a passing cab, but with
the genius of his cast, suspected the couple at his
side to be no better than they should be.

When they were about half-way to the Rue Bleue,
Regina, who had not answered one of Burgmuller's
anxious inquiries, said to his horror, " I will not go
home."

" But where will you go, then, dear Matame Baul ?"

" I'm thinking — give me time."

" "We are close to the Rue Blanche. Shall I tell
the man to stop at Madame Saincere's ?"

DAEK SHADOWS FLEE. 229

"Yes."

As the coach stopped, she began to feel for her
purse.

"I have no money with me," she said, piteously.

" God bless me, what does that matter ?" said
Burgmiiller, ready to cry.

" Don't tell any one," she said, as he led her into
the porte cochere.

"Never!" he answered, in a voice that would
have suited a conspirator taking an oath. He waited
at the foot of the stairs till he heard her ring at
and enter Madame Saincere's door. Sure then she
was safe, he went off, muttering, " line si cholie
Vemme bauvre betite tame, elle me douche le coeur /
ah, Baul, Baul, brends garde a dot, mon ami."

Madame Saincere's eagle eye rested for an instant
on Regina's troubled face, then she said, in a cheer-
ful voice —

" Child, child, you look frozen to death. There,
sit by the fire, you shall have some warm wine di-
rectly ; first of all a chaujfrette."

Regina sat down, shaking from head to foot ;
drank the wine, accepted the chauffrette." Little by
little the shuddering of her body and the quivering
of her lips ceased ; tears gathered in her eyes.

" Well, now what is the matter, my child ?" asked
Madame Saiucere, taking one of Regina's hands in
hers. She was sure beforehand that the poor little
wife was in some jealous trouble.

" Ah ! dear madame, I have been so silly ; I have
made Paul angry with me, and he is going away."

230 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

" Going away ; that's something new."

" Going to Russia — going to St. Petersburg."

" What is taking him there ?"

"The Emperor has invited him to go and paint
the Empress's picture : but he is so angry ; he said
such dreadful things, and looked as if he hated me."

The floodgates were opened, and tears — such as
the young alone have to shed — poured forth.

" You objected, then, to his going ?" asked Ma-
dame Saincere.

"No. I cannot tell you what I said. I am
ashamed of it now ; it was stupid, wicked ; but it is
true, though. He must not quarrel with me ; don't
let him quarrel with me ; he does not know what I
suffer. I will bear anything — everything — only he
must not look at me as if he hated me; as if I was
in his way."

Madame Saincere understood it all. She would
have given something to know if Madame Aubry
was also going to Russia. She answered —

" As for Paul hating you, or thinking you in his
way, that is mere exaggeration ; the extravagance
of passion. I dare say you have, both of you, been
very foolish children, and the best thing you can do
is to kiss and make friends."

" He won't," sobbed Regina. " Once before he
was angry, and it was so long before he forgave me.
I made such good resolutions. I meant to be quiet
and forbearing. I wish he were not famous, then
every one would not be trying to take him from
me."

DAKK SHADOWS FLEE. 231

Madame Saincere here exacted the tribute to her
foresight.

" There it is ; I warned you that a woman who
marries a genius must lay her account with having
unusual burdens laid upon her. Fame makes a bad
third at the fireside."

"But I would rather suffer as Paul's wife than
have peace with any one else. I ought to be more
patient — more humble."

" Hush ! there's his ring ; feel what you will, but
don't tell him all this ; there's not a man in the world
could stand it."

It was Paul, and Paul in search of Kegina.

Scarcely had she quitted the atelier before he felt
regret at his own violence. What we are agreed on
to call conscience, told him that his wife had good
reason for complaining. It was not her fault that
he had married her; nor that she was an inexpe-
rienced girl, instead of a clever woman. He had
never meant to act unkindly by her. She loved him,
of that he could not doubt. Beautiful as she was,
had he not occupied her whole heart? She might
have had a crowd of adorers. If there was a hus-
band in Paris who could boast of a wife in the same
words as Collatinus, he knew himself to be that one.
Purity so shone in Regina that her presence influ-
enced even men who had long ceased to respect any-
thing, to be guarded in their language and look
while in her company. Once his thoughts had taken
this direction, a sensation akin to self-reproach in-
vaded his bosom. The wounds we inflict return on

232 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

ourselves. None of us, be he judge or be he crimi*
nal, can escape from this protestation of our common
humanity against hostility to our neighbor.

Paul chafed sorely in his solitary atelier. How
was he to mend matters? He asked himself the
question, but averted his ear from the answer. He
hoped much from this journey to Russia. He as-
sured himself that time was a great arranger of diffi-
culties, — the force of circumstances generally sever-
ing all Gordian knots.

He took his hat and went out, intending to go to
the Boulevard to pick up the latest news or scandal.
But he found himself in no humor to enjoy the witty
insinuations which kill reputations with so sprightly

a grace. The carriage of the Princess M passed

quite close to him ; he fancied that she turned away
her head to avoid his bow. He was in a mood that
made him supersensitive. At one moment he was
not a hundred yards behind his wife ; but she turned
to the left, and he to the right, and when she was
contemplating the dark moving river, he was ascend-
ing Madame Aubry's stairs. .

Behind the lai'ge glass doors of Escalier B

was visible a group of persons, one of whom he dis-
tinctly recognized as the Due de G. C . There

was a lady among them. All at once there was a

burst of laughter." He went up to Escalier A ,

wondering whether that sudden laugh was at his
expense.

" Well, how did she take the news ?" asked Madame
Aubry. " Not very well, I fear, from your face."

DARK SHADOWS FLEE. 233

"It agitated her," lie answered, not intending to
repeat what had taken place Let ween him and Re-
gina ; but before he took his leave he had let Madame
Aubry know there had been a quarrel. She did not,
however, push him to give her the particulars. She
guessed them pretty accurately.

" We must make your going as easy as we can for
her. Would it not be as well if she paid your mother
a visit during your absence ?"

" She shall do as she likes. I will not fret her by
any advice," said Paul.

" She is very young to be left alone and in Paris."

" Regina ! I could and would leave her anywhere
without a moment's anxiety; besides, she has Ma-
dame Saincere almost next door."

" You know I would willingly offer her my ser-
vices, but she is too prejudiced against me to accept
of them."

" She's a mere girl, you know," was the vague re-
ply ; and then he fell into a reverie about the loud
lauffh that had issued from the vestihule of Escalier

B . He had forgotten both Regina and Madame

Aubry in trying to imagine who that lady could be
of whom he had had only a glimpse.

" You have very gay people on the opposite side,
haven't you?" he asked.

"A grande dame of another world. She is very
convenable ; and it's just the same as if we were in
different houses," replied Madame Aubry.

" What name does she go by ?"

"Madame St. Omer. Lucile used to go into sucb

234 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

raptures about her beauty that I inquired who she
was."

"Madame St. Omer was once my aunt's cook,"
said Paul; and smarting under the idea that Hor-
tense had raised a laugh at his expense, he spoke
harshly of her.

" And, by-the-by," he added, " I never see Lucile
now. Does she avoid me ?"

" Oh dear no. You are as much a favorite again
as ever."

" I should not have guessed it," he answered.

" I suppose you have not yet fixed when you go ?"
asked Madame Aubry, without appearing to be aware
of his ill-humor.

" As soon as possible."

"I shall see you every day before you go, shall I
not ?" The question was put with those caressing in-
flections which never failed of their effect.

" Surely," he replied; and they sat hand in hand
for five minutes. With a deep sigh Paul roused
himself to go away.

On his road home he turned into a jeweller's shop,
and bought an expensive bracelet for Regina.

It was beyond the dinner-hour when he reached
his own door. On seeing him alone, Joseph ex-
claimed —

" How ! is Madame not with Monsieur ?"

" Nothing so wonderful in our not being; together
to make you look so stupidly frightered," said Paul.

" Certainly : only Madame must be alone, and it is
quite dark."

DARK SHADOWS FLEE. 235

" There are plenty of cabs to be had." Paul went
into the salon, looked at the clock, took up his hat,
saying, as he went out, " Madame must be at Ma-
dame Saincere's."

He had in reality been uneasy enough to be glad
to find Regina with his aunt. However, the moment
he saw his wife's agitated face his displeasure le-
turned.

"You are just arrived in time," said Madame
Saincere, promptly. " I was going to send you a
message to come and dine here. Regina, who must
never boast of being a heroic wife, has been telling
me of your purposed journey. Is it interest or simply
your fame that has moved the Czar to invite you?"

" A little of both !" returned Paul, not very gra-
ciously. " Madame Aubry knew that such a mark
of favor would be agreeable to me, and exerted her-
self to obtain it."

" An excellent thing for your reputation and your
purse ; but it gives a sore heart to some one we
know."

"True affection knows how to make sacrifices,"
said Paul, sententiously.

" We are human, my dear Paul ; and though I be-
lieve I love you truly, I confess that the idea of your
going so far rather unhinges me," said Madame Sain-
cere. " I like the sight of that good-looking face of
yoiirs."

Paul was mollified. Madame Saincere kept the
conversation on the level on which she had placed it,
She had a stronger will than Paul, and keener per-

236 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

ceptions than Regina, therefore they yielded to her
influence.

The evening was really almost pleasant. Dr.

M came in, and hearing that Paul was going to

Russia, hegan a discussion on races, asserting as a
fact, as easily proved as that two and two make four,
that the nations of the North were preordained to
conquer those of the South.

To see the Doctor, you would have supposed him
entirely occupied by the subject in hand, blind and
deaf to everything else. Not at all. His medical
eye was always on the alert. As he finished off a
tirade about the superiority of bone and muscle in
Scandinavians, interspersed with quotations, ad libi-
tum, from " Tacitus" and "L'Union Medicale," he sud-
denly turned to Regina, and said —

" My dear little lady, I shall call on you at ten
to-morrow morning. You require' looking after.
Paul has let you have too much gayety. I can see
you are half-poisoned by vitiated air. Go on so and
you will be wrinkled as I am in half-a-dozen years.
Paul will allow us a tete-d-tSte, I hope."

Paul said —

" Regina has been as well as possible. I suppose
she has overwalked herself to-day."

" Ah !" said the doctor, with a scrutinizing look
at Regina. " My carriage is at the door. I'll take
you both home. It will save her any more fatigue."

So said — so done.

Alone with Regina, Paul asked —

" Why did you not send for Dr. M if you

DARK SHADOWS FLEE. 237

have been feeling unwell. It's not right to give
people an impression that I neglect you."

"Paul, don't be angry with me any more to-day."
Then she leaned against him and whispered some
words.

"You little goose!" he said, holding her closer
to him. "Why did you not tell me sooner," and
then because he spoke tenderly to her, and because
she felt herself folded in his arms, she began to cry
as if her heart would break.

" You will hurt yourself, Regina."

" Oh ! no — no, Paul. I am so happy ! I shall never
be unhappy again, or — "

" Or what ?" he asked.

" Never mind what. You shall never be vexed
with me any more. However it may seem, I will
always trust that you are right, for you are the best,
kindest — ." The poor, passionate heart was trying
to speak out words of love, the same in all ages, yet
that each one who loves believes new, and never
before uttered, burst from her lips.

All that Regina said sounded as familiar to her
husband as a thrice-told tale. He had heard the
same loving assurances from many a sweet mouth.
The nightingales have had the same song ever since
they were created, and love has but one gamut.

" I don't know when I did not love you," said
Regina, nestling to his breast. "From the first
moment I saw you, you seemed to me an angel.
You remember when I was a poor, unhappy child.
I have still the gold piece you gave me ; and you

238 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

looked at rue and sjjoke to me so kindly, and I cried
then just as now. To hear your voice — to know
you were coming to Madame Saincere's — to know
that I was sure to see you — was enough of happi-
ness. I lived for those Sundays when you did not
care a straw about me. I did nothing but think and
think of you — quite like dreaming. If you had —
but you do love me — if you had not, I used to make
plans how I would disguise myself and be your ser-
vant, and if you married I would take care of your
children, and one day when I was dying you would
find out how much I had loved you." All this, said
low and tremulously, like the whis|3erings of a sum-
mer breeze among the trees. As long as he held her
in his arms she asked no response — happy to be
allowed to tell her innocent love.

Paul kept silence, painfully conscious that he was
not in unison with her. Have you ever tried to place
your feet in the footprint they made five minutes
before, and did you succeed ? He said to her,
"Pleasant as it is to listen to your soft prattle, I
must send you to bed. What will Dr. M say to-
morrow, if he finds you in a fever?"

" Did happiness ever hurt ?" asked Regina.

" Happiness must go to bed when midnight strikes.
See here ! I bought you a toy to-day," and he clasped
the costly bracelet on her arm.

"Bought it for me! — to-day! — when I had been
behaving so ill ! Oh, Paul ! how good you are ; how
much, much better than I am !"

DAliK SHADOWS FLEE. 239

"Opinions are free," he said, laughing, and think-
ing to himself, " if deifying me makes her happy,
M'hy should I insist on opening her eyes? After all,
the best things life has to give us are illusions. God
help me, I have not one left."

CHAPTER XXII.

PSYCHE INSISTS 02* LIGHTING HEE LAMP.

It did not need twenty words from Paul to make
Regina understand that he was very anxious that the
news she had communicated to him the day before
should not interfere with his visit to St. Petersburg.
She therefore immediately began to talk of the prep-
arations for his journey, asking him if he thought he
could be back by August. Nothing she had ever
done or said had so touched Paul as this entering
into his wishes without any blowing of trumpets in
praise of her self-sacrifice.

" You are very good," he said, in a voice of emo-
tion, and with tears in his eyes.

At the tender sound of his voice, at the sight of
his moistened eyes, a wild desire of self-sacrifice
possessed Regina. Could her instantaneous death
have served him, she would have met it without
flinching. She knelt down before him, and said, with
flashing eyes, " Give me something very, very hard
to do for you."

He rested his hand on her shoulder, so preoccujned
with his own thoughts as scai'cely to hear her words.
She drew his hand to her lips and held it there.

" I am afraid my mother and aunt will advise my
giving up my journey," said Paul.

PSYCHE INSISTS ON LIGHTING HER LAMP. 241

"Because of me?" asked Kegina.

" Had I known sooner, of course I should have
declined; now, should I do so, it would be with a
bad grace, and not only should I be a loser as to
money, but run the risk of turning a powerful friend
into a powerful enemy."

"No one knows what I have told you. We need
not tell either your mother or Madame Saincere till
after you are gone."

" That's true ; and you really will not be vexed,
will not complain of me ?" and he raised her face to
his. He saw it full of trouble, and thought it was
because of his threatened absence, and not that she
shrunk from the naive egotism of her idol.

" Is it not my wish, as well as yours ? I want to
do something to prove my love for you. I will keep
the secret, and never own to having told you. Go
quickly, and — "

"What?" he asked.

" No, nothing ; I leave all to you."

" I should be easierrif you had somebody to watch
over you. Would you object to taking Madame
Aubry into our confidence? She is to be depended
on, and could advise you."

" Xo ; if your mother cannot be told, no stranger
shall know. I am very well and strong ; many a
woman never tells, and is none the woi'se. If you
write regularly, and make me believe that you
think of me and care about me, nothing will harm

me."

"To put any if in the case is absurd," said Paul,

242 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

" and you know it is. Women never can be satisfied
without sweet speeches — "

Regina put a hand on his lips.

"Don't go on, Paul; don't say anything unkind;
it will come back on me while you are away. I
don't require you, nor wish you, to be otherwise than
you are. I dare say I am exacting ; promise me,
dear, not to be angry with me once before you go
whatever I may do or say."

" I am never angry with you ; it is you who are
always finding fault with me."

" I won't do so any more," said Regina, softly ;
her strength was failing under this vain effort to
wring from Paul something like a response to her
own feelings. All her genius lay in her heart ; all her
light came from its noble inspirations.

From this time forth to the day of Paul's de-
parture, she never showed him any but a cheerful
countenance. By her manner of speaking of Paul's
absence, she prevented any of those insidious conver-
sations which so often entrap into unwary admissions
those who wish to conceal their sentiments. She
answered every expression of surprise that she did
not accompany her husband, by saying, " she had a
horror of travelling."

Her acquaintances said, "How little one can judge
of people ! One would have imagined Madame Paul
would have been in despair at being separated from
her husband for two months, and she takes it quite
composedly."

Madame Latour de la Mothe came to Paris to see

PSYCHE INSISTS ON LIGHTING HER LAMP. 24*3

Paul before his departure, and it was agreed on that
she should remain -with Regina till his return.

To most people Madame Latour appeared an ice-
berg, her presence imposed a restraint. Even Paul
had ceased to be at ease with his mother ; he believed
that he still loved her as of old; she knew better.
She saw that he winced under her old provincial
ways, her old provincial ideas. Absence and change
of society, V influence du milieu, had done their work
surely. Familiarity between mother and son had
vanished ; they scarcely ever conversed, and if they
did, it was without expansion.

Regina, on the contrary, was never so frank as
with Paul's mother. She would sit on a footstool at
her side, just as she had done when only sixteen.
Every tone of her voice, every glance of her eye,
expressed the affection of a daughter, and Madame
Latour gave in return the affection of a mother.
Paul wondered to see how prettily Regina caressed
his mother, and wondered still more to see how Re-
gina could brighten and soften that austere mother.

As was natural under the circumstances, Madame
Aubry avoided the Rue Bleue. After the arrival
of Madame Latour, she called once on that lady, but
the interview was cold and disagreeable, and never
repeated.

It excited Paul's gratitude to watch how persever-
ingly Regina held to her promise ; it was kept not
only to the letter, but in the spirit — no dejection, no
lamentations; she played the part she had under-
taken honestly. He was the more grateful that he

24A A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

was aware that his mother was on the qui vive to
discover if there existed any discomfort in his house-
hold. Juvigny was not so far from Paris, nor its in-
habitants such stay-at-homes as she was, and Paul
had his own reasons for believing that reports of his
renewed intimacy with Madame Aubry had reached
the maternal ear.

Madame Latour de la Mothe sometimes marvelled
to herself that Regina looked forward so composedly
to Paul's departure. One day the elder lady made
an observation to this effect to the younger.

Regina answered —

" I have made a vow that I will not shed one tear
till he is gone. I wish him to go away cheerful.
The Czar's summons came at the right moment.
Paul was beginning to fancy his fame was waning."

" It is why you don't wish to go with him that
puzzles me," said the mother-in-law.

" If I went, Paul would not be lodged in the Pal-
ace, that's one reason ; and then there are all sorts
of etiquettes at the Russian Court which would an-
noy him dreadfully on my account ; there is also the
expense to consider. He would have taken me in
spite of everything," said Regina, audaciously ; " but
I would not go."

After a short pause, the young wife added —

"Maman," — with what fondness she gave the ti-
tle ! — " Maman, you must bolster up my resolution,
for sometimes I am very weak, ready to crumble to
pieces."

The words were uttered with difficulty.

PSYCHE INSISTS ON LIGHTING HER LAMP. 245

"After he's gone, we will have a good cry to-
gether," and she threw herself into Madame Latonr's
anus, who felt how hard and fast the poor thing's
heart was beating.

From that hour Madame Latour de la Mothe
avoided the snbject of Paul's journey.

The day fixed for his going arrived. Such mo-
ments are always cruel. Regina had maintained her
courage to the very last. She had more the appear-
ance of a waxen image than of a living woman when
they met on the last morning at the breakfast-table.
She tried to eat, tried to smile.

" I didn't let Joseph pack your trunk, Paul," she
said, suddenly breaking the silence. " I did it my-
self."

Here she paused, drawing several long breaths.

"There's a list of your clothes pasted in the inside
of the lid, and in the pocket there's needle and
thread. How droll it would be to see you sewing !"

It was a failure. She threw up her hands, and
burst into tears. How she did weep !

Madame Latour de la Mothe left the room.

"Regina, my dear love, my child, my heart, don't
Bob so ; you will hurt yourself."

" Paul, Paul, say once, just once, that you love me !"

" Of course, I do ; and if I have ever pained you,
forgive me, Regina."

She was now so quiet as she rested in his arms
that, for an instant, he thought she had fainted
away. He looked anxiously into her face; her lips
were moving rapidly.

246 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

" What is it ? Speak to me, Regina."

" I am praying to God for help, if you don't love me."

She had entirely ceased crying.

" Won't you say you forgive me ?" he asked,
moved by sudden remorse.

She did not answer that she had nothing to par-
don, but she drew down his face to hers, kissed him
on the lips, saying, " I do forgive you."

There was a tap at the door ; it was Joseph, who
came to warn his master " that the coach was at the
door."

"You go with the luggage; I shall walk," said
Paul.

" Let me walk with you," whispered Regina ; " I
will behave well, and Joseph can bring me back."

" My dear girl, be guided by me ; it would be good
for neither you- nor me : now let me go, dearest,"
said Paul, as she clung wildly to him.

" Be brave, my sweet heart, for my sake."

He kissed her several times, called to his mother,
embraced her hastily, and ran down stairs.

" Call him back, call him back ; I want to say
something to him ; I must see him once more ; I can't
remember his face : call him back."

" He is gone, my daughter," said the poor mother
repi'essing her own agitation.

"Come with me, maman."

"My poor child ! my dear daughter — "

Regina broke from her mother-in-law's arms, and,
running to the atelier, threw the window open, lean-
ing almost all her body out.

PSYCHE INSISTS ON LIGHTING HEB LAMP. 2-47

She saw the well-known figure walking swiftly
away; in two minutes more he would have turned
the corner. A lady crossed the street hurriedly.
Regina was sure it was Madame Aubry.

She drew back with a groan. It smote on her
heart that it was a prearranged meeting : that Paul
had sent on Joseph with the luggage, had refused
her prayer to be allowed to go with him, because he
and Madame Aubry had concerted to be together to
the last.

" I think I am dying," sighed Regina, as Madame
Latour came into the atelier.

Alas ! we do not die once, but many times before
a grave-stone is laid over us.

Regina had to be carried to her bed.

From this time forth she lighted, like Pysche, her
lamp, searching for evidence of what was to break
her heart if found. No matter what she was doing,
her mind was ahvays working. She passed and re-
passed in review every trifle that had reference to
Madame Aubry and Paul; and it was strange how
the intensity of her intention, strained in one direc-
tion, brought her knowledge.

One day, as she and Madame Latour were sitting
at work together, Regina said suddenly —

"I wonder Paul did not marry Madame Aubry ?"

The elder lady, thrown oft* her guard by the quiet
tone in w T hich the question was put, answered —

" She knew that as long as I lived I never would
consent to his marrying her. A frivolous, light-
headed creature. I never could understand his pas-

248 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

sion for her," added Madame Latour, incautious
through indignation.

*****

Paul wrote very regularly to his wife : there was
no want of expressions of anxiety about her health,
nor of caressing epithets — of dears and darlings.
Nevertheless, these letters did not satisfy Regina.
She missed something in them : he mentioned him-
self so little ; told her next to nothing of his daily
life ; of what he felt or what was said to him ; of his
triumphs or vexations ; nothing of those ti'ifles we
relate so willingly to one we look upon as another
self.

Her letters to him were charming in their naivete.
She sent him a sort of diary, relating even the con-
versations she heard. She once wrote him a descrip-
tion of a family of chiffoniers, whom she watched daily
from her bedroom window, that was a little chef-
d'oeuvre of pathos and humor. She could write, too,
of her love with far less reserve than she could have
spoken.

Nothing like this in his answers; and presently
his letters began to distress her. The first impres-
sion they gave was that of disappointment. She
would read them over and over again, until the first
effect produced was diminished, and she had almost
persuaded herself that she had been mistaken.

Then came another, inflicting the same discomfort.
She felt sure, though she could not have explained
why, that Madame Aubry was for something in this

PSYCHE INSISTS ON LIGHTING HER LAMP. 249

change of Paul's style. Long since Regina had come
to know that Paul wrote as often, if not oftener, to
Madame Aubry than he did to herself. Lncile had
frequently unconsciously wrung Regina's heart, by
telling her that "maman had had a Ions; letter from
Monsieur Latour, and that he was well and so gay.*'
Did Madame Aubry send such messages out of kind-
ness?

Many of Regina's sayings at this period were after-
ward recalled by Madame Latour and Lucile Aubry ;
for this little girl was always finding some plausible
pretext to be with Madame Paul, the object of her
adoration.

" If we had only guessed !" said every one. " Paul
might have been warned — she might still be here
and happy. She would so willingly have let her-
self be deceived." As it was, no one conjectured
that the young wife's mind was on the rack.

That great fund of the unknown, which we call
chance, had arranged that she should exchange doubt
for certainty.

One morning when Paul had been absent three
months, Regina received a letter from him which
excited both alarm and astonishment. Every line
was impregnated with irony ; slight indeed, and
which might have escaped the notice of an indiffer-
ent person.

" You are surely not well, my dear," said Ma-
dame Latour, when they met at ten o'clock.

Regina replied, "that she was unaccountably
cold — nothing more."

250 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

" You want your breakfast," said the mother-in
law, going to hurry Joseph.

Though it cost her a struggle, Reg-ina ate a little
to please Madame Latour.

" Well, you are warmer now, my dear ?"

" Not much, maman ; perhaps if I go out the
air will do me good." Regina did not allude to
having heard from her husband that morning. She
could not trust herself to speak of him or his letter.
She could not have borne that any eye should rest
on such dry, biting words addressed by Paul to her.
She kept turning over in her mind what he could
mean by praising her for being such a model of pa-
tience and of wifely obedience, and then that long
tirade about the extremes of fashion in St. Peters-
burg.

It was a strange answer to a letter in which she
very well remembered to have said —

" I sometimes ask myself if I do not wish to love
you less. You understand that it is a selfish wish ;
but, indeed, I am too happy to have you to love. I
would like to give you all my share of hapjnness in
this world. The love I have for you absorbs all my
thoughts and all my heart. I have a little flower
you gave me one day — a bit of jessamine — it is
faded and dry. It does me good to have something
from you to look at." It was very girlish, but it
was sterling ore.

Paul was angry about something or other — that
was the conclusion to which Regina came. She would
write to him frankly, as a wife mig-ht write to a

J 7 O

TSYCHE INSISTS ON LIGHTING HER LAMP. 251

husband. She would complain of the tone of all
his letters, claim her right to his confidence, tell him
she did not deserve his irony; that never since the
world began had there been a woman whose whole
soul and affections were more completely given to
a husband than hers to him. She was young and
ignorant — she was doing her best to make herself
more fit to be his companion. Would he not have
patience with her ? He must be good and write to
her kindly — he must remember that an hour of trial
was before her. She might die. It would be a com-
fort to him in such a case to think he had made her
happy. He might scold her as much as he pleased, only
he must tell her that he loved her, loved her only.

She had been pacing up and down the neighbor-
ing square while concocting the letter she was to
write that day. She made sure that coming from
her heart it must find its way to Paul's ; and, full
of new-born hope, she went back to the house and
wrote one of those loving, incoherent letters, which
no art can imitate.

When she had sent it away her spirits rose, as
though she had received some good news, or as if she
had gained her cause with Paul.

" Your walk has done wonders," observed Ma-
dame Latour. " Whenever you feel that nervous
chill, you must always eat something, a biscuit with
a spoonful of wine, and go out for ten minutes."

Regina answered cheerfully, "I shall take your
advice, maman. You always give good advice."

That evening Regina sang several songs, and she

252 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

and Madame Latour laughed over her panic at Ma-
dame de Lusson's soiree at Juvigny.

" I did not think then I should ever be your daugh-
ter," said Regina.

" The possibility crossed me," replied Madame La-
tour.

" Did it ? Why ?"

" Because you were very pretty, and a charming
girl ; it even seemed strange to me that Paul should
have let Charles Gerard have a chance."

" Really !" exclaimed Regina, in a tone of delight.
" Oh, maman, how nice it is to hear you say this, for I
am certain you mean every word you say ;" and Re-
gina nestled close to her mother-in-law.

" You don't think I am much changed, do you ?
Paul won't be shocked when he sees me ?"

"Absurd, child!" said Madame Latour, almost
fondly. " When do you mean to become a reason-
able woman ?"

" I don't know, mother. It's pleasant to love some
one foolishly."

Madame Latour's severe eyes softened : " God
bless you, my dear child — my very dear child," she
said, kissing Regina on the forehead.

Letters are delivered in Paris as late as half-past
nine at night. Just as Madame Latour pronounced
her blessing, Joseph brought in a letter.

Retina saw at a glance that the address was in
the same hand as that of the anonymous letter of
months back. It was Hortense's unformed writing,
without any attempt at disguise.

PSYCHE INSISTS <>N EJGHTtNG HER LAMP. 3§3

"Who is your correspondent?" ariked Madame
Latour, as Regina examined the direction.

"A person who was Madame Sain cere's cook when
I — an unhappy ehild — first came to the Rue Blanche.
Hortense was very kind to me then, and for long af-
terward, but I Wish she would not write to me."

"Surely that girl went all wrong? What can she
have to say to you, Regina ?"

"I don't Tcnow," replied Regina, with a Blight Hush.

"I would return her letter unopened, my dear.
Don't you fall into the romantic philanthropy of the
day, and fancy you find every virtue save one in
these sort of women."

"I cannot act rudely to Hortense, after accepting
her gifts for years ;" and Regina told how every New
Year's Day, while she was at school, she, the grand-
daughter of the Comte and Comtesse de Rochetail-
lee, had been indebted for the etrennes that saved
her from mortification to the ci-devant cook."

" My sister should not have allowed it ; these com-
promises never lead to good. You must find some
way of putting an end to all intercourse with this
person."

" I will request her not to send me any more let-
ters."

" You are not to write her one line. I shall make
known to her that by my desire you decline all fur-
ther correspondence."

"You will not write unkindly?"

" No ; but remember, my daughter, there is nothing
more dangerous than a false position. A woman's

254: A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

life should be as clear as crystal ; above all, her ac«
tions should be avowable without a blush. I don't
suppose you could confess to receiving letters from
this Hortense, even to Paul, without some embar-
rassment."

" I shall do as you wish in future, marnan."
" And why not immediately ? Don't read that let-
ter."

" She may be in distress, or wanting help."
" Don't let my advice vex you, my dear," said
Madame Latour, struck by Regina's increasing pal-
lor. " Read your letter and let us go to bed."

" Yes, I will say good-night," said Regina, rising.
" You are not angry with me, mother ? It is wrong
to be so obstinate."

" The matter is not worth further discussion, my
dear. Youth and asre seldom see matters in the
same light. To-morrow we will come to some de-
cision. Good-night, my sweet chdd."

CHAPTER XXHI.

OUR HOPES ARE FROZEN TEARS.

Regina laid the unopened letter on her dressing-
table, allowing Celestine to brush and arrange her
beautiful hair for the night.

" Madame does not read her letter ?" asked Celes-
tine, peering over her mistress's shoulder to see the
direction, with all the familiarity of a French lady's-
maid.

" By-and-by," said Regina.

" It does not come from Monsieur. Ah ! if Mon-
sieur could see Madame's eyes when his letters arrive
— they light up like a match. Ah ! if he could see
them."

Regina smiled.

" He never will. If he were once home again I
should never have any letters from him. There, that
will do, Celestine ; roll up my hair."

" What hair !" went on the soubrette. " It's a
pity no one knows but I how long and thick it is."

" Never mind — that will do — go to bed, my good
Celestine."

" Madame does not wish me to put out the
candle ?"

" Xo — £Ood-niodit."

Instead of at once opening Hortense's letter as

256 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

soon as she was alone, Regina went to the window,
undrew the curtains, and looked out. The night wan
beautiful — a summer night — almost as clear as day.
There was a temporary lull in the noise of the great
city; not so much as the echo of a footstep reached
her eai\

Curiosity and apprehension alternately possessed
her. She felt like one about to play for a stake,
which, if lost, brings irretrievable ruin. "Whenever
she turned her eyes toward the letter, a shuddering
seized her. Why should Hortense write to her?
Though the voice of truth in her heart warned her to
beware of one who, though meaning well, had already
pointed the arrow of suspicion at her husband, yet
Regina persisted.

" Whatever is fated will take place," and the en-
velope was opened. She perceived in an instant that
the enclosure was in her husband's writing, W'ith-
out giving herself time to reflect, she spread the sheet
of paper before her and read as follows :

" My bear Friend —

" Many thanks for the account you give me of
my cava sposa. You are my good Providence.
What you say reassures me, qualifies my mother's
representations. Yesterday I had begun to think
seriously of renouncing the fruit of my journey
hither, and of returning to Paris. My mother is so
anxious about this expected grandchild, that she
magnifies all Regina's little ailments. What proves
to me that you are right in ascribing my wife's

OUR HOPES ARE FROZEN TEARS. 257

present Indispositions to her aerves, is that she is
capable of the exertions yon describe. Relying on
your judgment, I shall put off my return till close on
the grand crisis. I suppose men's paternal feelings
develop at sight of the bambino. Up to this mo-
ment 1 know nothing of the rapture and pride of a
father. In fact, every time I see a small specimen
of humanity, I am seized with a dread of what is
before me. 1 look forward, however, to this child
with the hope that it may fill the void in her life
which Regina experiences with me. How can it be
otherwise ? We are both of us the victims of miscal-
culation — I, that my mother prevented my marrying
you, the only woman I ever loved — and she, that I
committed the folly of marrying her.

" Too late, too late for us all, my heart's blessing.
We must make the best of the position, and for the
few years that remain to us, avoid any separation.

"The Emperor is most gracious, very familiar —
the dangerous familiarity of a lion. The grand-
duchesses are handsome and amiable. I do not know
whether, as you say, they try to make you forget
their rank. What I am sure of is, that they do not
succeed in doing so. I wish for you every day, and
every hour of the day, &c. &c. Thank you for all
your efforts to keep on good terms with my tigress,
it is a sacrifice you make for my sake."

And much more to the same effect. The conclu-
sion was — " Your Paul."

Regina sat for long, looking at the signature,
quite unconscious that she had been guilty of any

258 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

wrong: in reading- what was not intended for her.
When she recovered the power of thinking, her
purity of soul, her naive faith in others, her hopes of
happiness — all, all were crumbled into dust — van-
ished like the shadow of a dream : gone, gone for-
ever. She could never believe in human being
again. She had one wish, the wish that comes to all,
with the first knowledge of having been deceived
by the one most loved, the one in whom unbounded
trust has been reposed. If those who betray could
know what it is they inflict, of the wrecked, dev-
astated life of the betrayed — all lost, without re-
source ! For there are some who cannot forget,
cannot pardon. Undeceived — it is for life! One
pang rose above the rest: it was that Paul had
called Madame Aubry his heart's blessing — a term
of endearment that Regina was in the habit of giv-
ing to him; that was the sharpest thrust of all.
After a crisis like this, such as Regina become
strang-ers to their former selves. Thev have been
translated into another world. Kot one well-known
thing or person will wear a familiar air for them ;
words will have another signification ; music, paint-
ing, poetry will rouse other sensations.

It was not reason, but instinct, the instinct of the
stricken deer, which made Regina seek to hide her
wound. When Celestine entered her room the next
morning, Regina was in the attitude of one who
sleeps soundly. She kept her eyes closed, without
courage to bear the sight of a human being. She
felt her maid lay something on the bed.

OUR HOPES ARE FROZEN TEARS. 259

As soon as Celestine had slipped noiselessly out of
the room, Regina jumped out of bed and carried a
newly arrived letter to the window. Enough light
came through the bars of the Venetian blinds to
allow of her reading it. Yesterday, what delight
the sight of that handwriting would have bestowed!
To-day it filled her with disgust. Why should she
break the seal ? What could he have to say to her ?
Nothing. And so she remained, holding the unread
letter, until Celestine came back with an inquiry
from Madame Latour, if there were good news from
St. Petersburg.

Regina tore off" the envelope ; a flower fell out — a
white cyclamen, Re'gina's favorite flower. It was
Celestine who picked it up. Urged, perhaps, by
some remorse for the sentiments he had expressed to
Madame Aubry, Paul had written quite like a lover
to Rejnna. He had even found touching words to
say of the expected baby.

As Regina read, she smiled — no, it was not a
smile, but a contraction of the lips that Celestine
took for a smile.

"Tell Madame Latour" (hitherto Regina had al-
ways said, speaking of Madame Latour, " my moth-
er") — " tell Madame Latour that Monsieur will return
in less than three weeks."

" And Madame is not wild with joy ?"

At Celestine's question, Regina burst into tears.
She had not yet wept since reading the letter to
Madame Aubry.

Celestine was alarmed. " Madame must not cry so,

260 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

Madame would, hurt herself," and the maid brought
eau de cologne and eau de fleurs d'oranger.

" Let me cry, let me cry," gasped Regina, laying
her head on Celestine's shoulder.

The passion spent itself, and then Regina bid Ce-
lestine go with the news to her mother-in-law. Once
alone, she opened the window, threw out the bit of
white cyclamen, and watched a passer-by tread on it
with an expression of scornful pleasure. She pinned
together the two letters, the one to Madame Aubrey
and the other to herself, and placed them in her
desk, where they were afterward found, and served
to clear up what otherwise had been a mystery.

It must seem as yet unaccountable to the reader
how Hortense had obtained possession of the letter
to Madame Aubry. Hortense, living under the same
roof, had discovered through her maid that Paul
Latour and Madame Aubry kept up a constant cor-
respondence. Partly from affection for Regina, partly
from ill-will to Paul, and with entire wrongheaded-
ness, Hortense left no stone unturned until she had
intercepted one of Latour's letters. With a strange
scrupulousness she sent it unopened ; only his wife,
so she argued, had a right to know what he wrote
to other women.

One thought kept its place in Regina's mind that
day and for many days after, until at last she could
have declared some one was perpetually whispering
it to her. "What is. the use of living?" was what
the voice said. She sought no confidant : there was
an end of her jealousy ; anxiety and doubt had van-

OUR HOPES ABE JUOZEN TEARS. 261

ished. In the very suffering of jealousy there is ex-
citement; where there is sensation, there is life.
But when all is dumb within us, when there is nei-
ther hope nor fear, it is then that life becomes in-
supportable. Can any one suppose that a loving-
woman of Regina's age is to find an equivalent for
the absence of all the joy of mutual affection in the
performance of her domestic duties?

The strongest desire that Regina now had was to
hide the knowledge she had acquired. She be-
lieved, as so many young women do in her situation,
that she should not survive the birth of her child.
She would keep her secret. As long as she lived
no one should ever have the satisfaction of knowing
that she was aware that Paul did not, never had
loved her. Up to this time she had been as shy of
speaking of Paul as though she had been only an
engaged girl. From that fatal night a singular al-
Iteration took place. She seized every opportunity
of talking of her husband's devotion to her, and
more particularly to Madame Aubry and Lucile.
One of her most constant assertions was, that so as
Paul had her with him, he did not mind where he
was, and that it was all she could do to make him
go to St. Petersburg without her.

Madame Aubry listened with astonishment to
these declarations, but not with so much wonder as
Madame Latour de la , Mothe, who, with a woman's
penetration, had soon discovered that Regina was
troubled with many misgivings as to Paul's love for
her. There was another change.

262 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

Regina, who had hitherto always acted on the de«
fensive with Madame Aubry, all at once assumed the
offensive, finding out and hitting the weak places in
her enemy's armor. Madame Aubry was too expe-
rienced a tactician to let her discomfiture be per-
ceived.

One day, however, she was ill-advised enough to
speak of a letter she had just received from Latour
before some persons calling at the same time with
herself on Regina. She ended with —

" You are not jealous, I hope, Madame Paul ?"

" Of you ! Jealous of you ? Oh ! No !" Re-
gina's tone and the little accompanying laugh were
inimitable — impossible to express more clearly how
grotesque such a supposition appeared to her.

The most good-natured of those present said —
" Then you are not of a jealous nature, Madame."

" I am not better than my neighbors," returned
Regina. " Yes. I think there are women of whom
I could be jealous."

When one woman has wounded the vanity of an-
other to the quick, no return of good-will can be
looked for. Madame Aubry came no more to the
Rue Bleue till one day after Latour's return.

CHAPTER XXIV.

DYING ECHOES.

Yes, Paul was coming back ; he would be home
in ten days. Regina's heart had leaped for joy when
she first heard this. Love has a long agony before
it altogether dies. She would sit hour after hour,
shut up in her own room, doing nothing but think-
in;:-, thinking of him — not consecutive thinking, but
a kind of dreamy recalling of everything he had ever
said to her, of the few attentions, the many negli-
gences he had shown her, of his letters. She thought
over all that had passed, the whole culminating to
the one point that he had declared he did not love
her, that he regretted his marriage.

And now he was coming home, how was she to
receive him ? And he ? She shrunk with disgust
from the idea of his caresses, given because it was
proper and right in a husband to kiss his wife on his
return home. No ; she never, never could put her
arms round his neck again, and feel happy that it
was her privilege so to do. Ah ! what a misfortune
for them both that she had been enlightened ! So
that she had not known of his indifference, happiness
would have been still possible for her. And some
day, seeing how entirely she loved him, he might
have come to care for her. That was all over ; bury
her heart, that was what she must do.

264 A TSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

One day after the other went by, and Paul's
mother watched Regina's listlessness with some
alarm ; she was indeed so struck by it that she sent

privately to Dr. M to call.

"Pulse a little disturbed," was the Doctor's ver-
dict, and he lectured Regina on the necessity of
keeping herself calm, of avoiding agitation, — advice
about as easy to follow as when some patient, with
good reasons for being in low spirits, is told to
amuse himself.

All the morning of the day in the evening of
which Paul was to arrive, Regina went restlessly
about the house, so pale and sad-looking that it
brought tears into the eyes of those who saw her.

" She is not going to trouble anybody long," ob-
served Joseph to Celestine.

" Trouble, whom do you think she troubles ?"
asked the maid pertly.

" A way of speaking, a way of speaking, young
woman ; we are all troublesome to somebody or
other."

"You old hypocrite," retorted Celestine, with
feminine losric.

"Why do you look so much at me to-day, moth-
er ?" asked Regina petulantly.

" Do 1 look so much at you, my dear ?"

" Yes ! I hate to be stared at."

Madame Latour choked away a sigh. She knew
that Regina was suffering, and yet the unusual barsh
manner hurt her, and she said in her heart, "Every
one thinks an old woman may be ill-used."

DYING ECHOES. 265

Regina had laid herself on the sofa in the little
back salon, and muffled her head with a shawl, to
prevent all sounds from without reaching her. She
need not have done so, for a deafening noise as if a
dozen bees were buzzing in her ears, and the beating
of her heart like the ticking of a great clock, pre-
vented her hearing anything else. She was ill, very
ill, though she did not know it.

Presently a well-remembered voice spoke —

" Regina, my darling !"

She sprung to her feet, and stared at her husband
with blood-shot eyes. He was holding out his arms
to her.

She forgot his letter — her doubts — her resolutions ;
she only saw and only knew that Paul was before
her; she sprang to his embrace, clinging to him with
rapture.

"My own, my darling !" Paul's arm was round
her waist, his eyes looking down fondly into hers.
" You have not given me one kiss, Regina !"

A tide of recollection rushed over her ; she would
have turned away from him, but that he held her
firmly. " You have not kissed me," he repeated.

She tore down his face close to hers, and kissed
him on the lips once, twice, violently; then she
thrust him from her, and went back to the sofa.
Paul, a little startled, folloAved and said, "Did I
hurt you?" and would have again taken her in his
arms, but she said, sharply, " Don't — don't !" He
was sure, now, that there was a strangeness in her
manner.

2GG A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

" You are my little wife— my property, and I claim
it," again putting his arm round her. "When a
man has been more than four months absent, lie
wants to be made much of and petted." While
speaking, he laid his head on her shoulder. She let
it lie there, yet neither speaking to him, nor return-
ing the pressure of his hand. He was close to her,
and it seemed to her as though she could not reach
him, as if she were inaccessible to him.

Twenty times Regina was on the point of telling
Paul that she had read that unlucky confession of
his to Madame Aubry. She would have liked to
say, " No need for you to play a part, we are equals
now, our hearts in the same key, mine as indifferent
to you as yours to me. I don't belong to the living."
But her tongue was tied by Paul's influence over
her. Absent from him, she could think and act in-
dependently. His presence enslaved her, and she
sat silent, shuddering, indignant with him and«her-
self.

The moment of reaction must come, the tension
of her mind relax, or reason pay the penalty. She
turned suddenly on him, placed her two hands on
his shoulders, and looking him in the face said, with
a face blanched by terror and pain —

" No need, Paul, to make any more pretences.
I believe I am dying. I know you don't love me —
never did love me. Quick ! Call your mother !"

" Are you mad, Regina ?" he exclaimed, throwing
his arms round her. "What nonsense is this you
have taken into your silly little head ?"

DYING ECHOES. 267

" I read it myself ! You wrote it all to Madame
Aubry ! I read it ! Hortense sent it to me ! You
should not have married me."

Paul turned almost as white as Regina.

" Call Maman ! For God's sake, call her— call her !"

Madame Latour came, and, as soon as she saw
Regina, desired Joseph to take a cab and fetch Dr.
M .

Regina could not be persuaded to go to her bed.
She would lie moaning on the sofa for five minutes,
then start up and begin pacing the room till weak-
ness forced her again to the sofa. Paul was in a
pitiable state. He knelt by his wife, reiterating that
he did love her — that he had written that fatal letter
in a moment of irritation. He dared not avow that
he had done so to pacify Madame Aubry, who had
shown a jealousy of Regina that had alarmed him.
Untrue to both, his sin had found him out.

The night of the 14th of August was a terrible
night — twelve hours never to be forgotten by any of
those then in Latour's house.

It was with difficulty that Paul could be kept
away from the side of his wife's bed, though every
time she caught sight of him she screamed out that
he was killing her.

At break of day of the 15th, the fete of the As-
sumption, Dr. M sought Paul and told him that

Regina was safe, and that he was the father of a
little girl. Prematurely born, the child was not
likely to live long : it breathed, and that was all : the
sooner it was baptized the better.

268 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

" May I go to Regina ?" asked Paul.

" She must not be agitated." There was so much
misery in Paul's face, that the doctor added, "I will
go and see whether you can be admitted."

Dr. M had gained sufficient information from

Regina's incoherent words during the night, to have
a shrewd guess that matters were not right between
the husband and wife. With infinite caution, he
broached the subject of his mission.

" The baby must be baptized, and Paul would be
glad to consult her about the names, and also about
the sponsors."

" She is to be called Marie Dolores."

Dr. M said, "Marie is pretty, but the other

name is not French."

"It w r as the name of my father's mother." Then
she added angrily, her face flushing violently, " but
I don't care what you call the monkey."

" She may be a good Christian by any name,"
said the doctor smiling.

Regina did not speak.

" Do you feel able to see Paul ?"

The same silence, but the doctor saw an angry
sparkle in her eye.

Several times in the course of the day Paul went
to her bedside, but to all he said to her (and Heaven
knows he had never spoken so caressingly to her,
never looked at her so fondly,) she made no reply :
gave no return, save a curious low derisive laugh.
Once, when he leaned over the baby lying by her

DYING ECHOES. 269

side, she eyed him so fiercely, that be hurst into
tears.

She closed her eyes as one weary.

Somewhat to Dr. M 's surprise, Regina recov-
ered rapidly, and the bahy continued to live. It
lived, but it did not thrive. The young mother
would never let it out of her arms except when it
was absolutely indispensable that the rosy-cheeked
Norman woman, its nurse, should have it. As for
Paul, Regina's love for him had given place to de-
cided aversion. She would neither speak to him nor
look at him. Day after clay he brought her flowers,
the sweetest and the choicest. Her dressiug-room,
where she now always sat, was strewed with the
most costly baubles and toys invented to amuse
grown-up children. Not a morning but she found
some gift awaiting her. Paul, the indifferent hus-
band, had become an impassioned lover. Every
fault exacts its expiation. Human vengeance may
sleep ; conscience does its work bravely.

Paul used to watch, through the glass door of
communication between his room and the dressings-
room, the effect on his wife of his morning's offering.
Once his heart beat with hope: it was when he saw
Regina look with interest at " La Journee de Ma-
demoiselle Lili." He had left the book open, and
she turned over every page, showing the engravings
to the unconscious babe in her arms.

270 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

Nothing came of it. When he went in to wish
her good-morning, Regina turned away her head,
and to all he said gave no reply. One day he knelt
down before her, took her hands in his, and
said —

" Look at me, Regina ; do yon not see that I am
unhappy ?"

He was indeed the shadow of the handsome, suc-
cessful Paul Latour de la Mothe.

" Look at my hair," he added. " It's growing gray,
my love, because I am so wretched. And it is all
a mistake. You would believe me if I told you I
did not love you, why can you not believe me when
I tell you that I do ?"

Tears were rolling over her cheek.

"Why do you cry, my darling ?"

" Because you hurt my hands," she said, whim-
pering like a child.

He fled.

For some time the doctor and his mother com-
forted Paul by assuring him that many women were
eccentric after their confinement ; and a common
thing that the eccentricity should manifest itself by
aversion to the person most dear — to the husband
or child. Time — care — travelling — generally effected
a cure.

Madame Saincere had a whole list of cases where
the wife recovered after the lapse of more than a
twelvemonth.

Dr. M recommended Paul to be less assidu-
ous in his attentions to Regina ; to pass his morn-

DYING ECHOES. 271

ings in the atelier. Very probably when she missed
him, she would begin to wish for his presence.

" Finish your ' Iphigenia,' " said T)r. M , " you

have just time before the opening of the Exhibition."

Regina had sat to Paul for Agamemnon's daugh-
ter : he had made an excellent likeness of his model,
but had sought in vain to impart to the face of
" Iphigenia" the expression suitable to her horror and
her terror when she discovers that she is to be the
victim offered to the offended god.

As he sat now contemplating his half-finished pic-
ture, he remembered how he had been almost exaspe-
rated by the shy, happy, loving look with which llegi-
na's eyes always met his, whenever he bid her turn
them toward him — the very look becoming in a wil-
ling bride, but not to one about to be sacrificed. Those
beautiful eyes were now as perfect as ever in shape,
but that peculiar clearness which belongs to great
youth and health had vanished. ]\Iany bitter thoughts
occupied the painter's brain. He wondered over the
blindness of human beings, which prevents their
seeing where happiness lies ; so often close to us,
and yet we cannot see it. He felt that his life was
broken up, and it was by his own weakness. Paint-
ing ! yes, he had believed that art alone could give
his existence sufficient interest; that the exercise
of his intellectual powers alone would be sufficient
to make life grateful. He understood now that
there is nothing one-sided in nature — the affections
must be in the right direction as well as the intel-
lect. Every tear he had made Regina shed was now

272 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

weighing down his heart. We must respect the
rights and feelings of others, if we would secure
our own peace. What is remorse but a protesta-
tion of human nature against the wrongs we have
inflicted. Not a touch of the brush did Paul give
that day. It had cost him a great effort to follow

Dr. M 's advice, and remain away from Regina

for several hours. In his afternoon visit to her, he
told her that he had been trying to finish the
" Iphigenia." He had taken the new habit of telling
her everything that he did during the day — and that
in spite of her unvarying taciturnity. And how he
had formerly repulsed her every endeavor to enter
into his life, to be his companion. God help us, how
stupid we are when we tread down affection !

The next morning, as soon as Paul was in the ate-
lier, Regina came thither with her baby, and un-
asked, placed herself opposite to him as his model.

" Thank you, darling. I shall now be able to finish,"
and he hastily placed the platform for her to stand
on. " Will you allow nurse to hold baby ?"

She shook her head.

" It will fatigue you too much," he said, tenderly ;
but he desisted from further remark, for he saw her
anger rising.

She placed herself in the necessary pose.

"How well you remember !" Six months ago, the
caressing: tones of his voice would have made her
heart leap for joy.

He had found the expression for " Iphigenia's"

DYING ECHOES. 273

eyes; his hand trembled as he strove to copy what
made his misery. At the end of half an hour, the
sleeping- infant woke with a wail, and Regina went
away without a word, as she had come.

CHAPTER XXV

A RAINBOW ABOVE THE WRECK.

Paul was examining his work of the day hefore
with mingled pain and wonder, when he was startled
by the appearance of Madame Aubry at his side.

" For God's sake, go away !" he exclaimed. " Re-
gina may come here at any moment, and if she meets
you, the consequences may be fearful."

" Why don't you come to see me ?" cried Adeline.
" What have I done to deserve your neglect ? It
was no fault of mine that you wrote as you did —
none of my doing that your letter reached your
wife's hands. There was nothing after all so very
dreadful in what you said."

" Go away, for God's sake !" reiterated Paul,
" you don't know the evil you may cause."

"Is she, then, really very ill?" asked Madame
Aubry.

" I have always had great confidence in you," he
replied ; " so I'll tell you a secret, two secrets — she
is mad — mad — very mad; and I adore her."

Madame Aubry said —

"Hush ! there's a step."

"Go into the little room, remain there, I implore
you. I will do my best to release you soon."

Madame Aubry had scarcely closed the door on
herself before Regina appeared, always carrying her

A RAINBOW ABOVE THE WRECK. 5S75

baby. She paused after she had come forward some
few steps, and looked about her uneasily; however,
after that moment's hesitation she went and placed
herself on the platform. But Paul perceived that
she was far less tranquil than she had been the day
before ; her nostrils quivered, and her lips twitched
nervously.

He painted on, scarcely knowing what he did ; and
yet instinctively rendering the disturbed, fiercely
passionate face before him. If the baby would only
wake and wail ! His sensations were those of a man
on the scafibld hoping for a reprieve.

Regina stood very quietly : all of a sudden, just
when Paul for an instant had his head bent over his
color-box, she made a bound to the glass door, and
before he could reach her, had opened it. There
were woman's screams — a baby's Avail — a violent
struggle.

" Joseph ! — mother !" shouted Paul, and Madame
Aubry rushed through the atelier.

When Madame Latour and Joseph ran in, Regina
was holding Paul's bleeding hand to her lips.

"Look to the child," said Paul, pointing to the
poor baby lying on the floor.

No questions were needed, the scene explained
itself.

Regina obeyed Paul the moment he asked her to
go upstairs; but she would not let go his hand once
she was in her room ; he said —

" You don't wish' me to die, Regina ? and I shall
if you do not allow my hand to be bound up."

276 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

She let it go, and threw herself at his feet, folding
her arms round his knees.

" I will not leave you, my dear one ; lie down on
the sofa, and I will sit by your side."

She did as he hid her, her eyes always riveted on
him, and seemingly having forgotten her baby.

The wound she had given Paul was without doubt
intended for Madame Aubry. The blow had been
dealt with his palette knife, which she had caught up
and concealed with the cunning of madness. It was
supposed that the strong patchouly with which
Madame Aubry was always perfumed had been the
betraying cause of that lady's presence.

Dr. M and Madame Saincere seized this occa-
sion to try and persuade Paul to let Regina be removed
from home, and placed for a time under special su-
pervision. But to their amazement Paul scoffed at
the supposition that his wife was mad, though we
know he had owned to Madame Aubry that she was
so. He would listen to no plan or project which
was to separate Regina from him ; he said " that she
had only done what any jealous, passionate woman
might be guilty of. The Manolas who stabbed their
lovers were not put in Maisons de Sante.

" Some day the police will interfere," said the doc-
tor.

" If you set them on a false scent," returned Paul,
furiously, " you and I will have to settle that mat-
ter."

" God help you, my dear Paul ;" and the doctor
ran away to hide his emotion.

A RAINBOW ABOVE THE WRECK. 277

"Curious inconsistency of human nature," observed

Madame Saincere afterward to doctor M . " This

man, who was indifferent, if not disdainful of his wife,
while she was full of health and beauty and devo-
tion for him, has suddenly conceived what I should
call a furious passion for the poor crazed creature."

" The ' inaccessible,' that's the attraction," replied
the doctor; "the instinct of the hunter after an unat-
tainable prey."

" And you think there's no chance for her recov-
ery ?"

" There's nothing impossible ; but as far as my ex-
perience goes, I should say but small hope. Phys-
ical and moral causes have united to destroy her
reason."

" And all promised so well in the beginning of
their marriage ! Every thing seemed so suitable."

Dr. M arched his eyebrows.

" You mean what is called a mariage de raison —
a blase man and an inexperienced girl. Paul once said
to me, and said justly, 'That it was monstrous to
marry a man with worn-out feelings, who has heen
steeped in all the dissipations of the world, to a pure
young girl, with all her feelings fresh and strong.'
In short, the situation has produced a natural result
— a tragedy, and a tragedy of which I wish I could
be sure of the end. Regina must be watched closely ;
her having used a knife alarms me."

For weeks Pegina remained tolerably docile,
though she had every sort of caprice, all of which
Paul satisfied. He would not have her contradicted.

278 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

One of her whims was to dress herself and her baby
in the costume of a Dominican nun. Anything more
lugubrious than the mother and child thus habited,
it is not possible to conceive. It required the cour-
age of affection and of a great compassion in the nurse
and Celestine that they remained in the house.

Paul's friends gathered round him in this disastrous
period. Ernst Biirgmuller, Valton, Georges Tully,
proved they could feel deeply and seriously. All
that love, friendship, and science could do was done
for the husband and wife. Love alone withstood the
daily proofs that the evil was on the increase. Re-
gina could scarcely be brought to eat ; it was only
when she saw Paul's tears that she yielded to take a
morsel from his plate, or to drink out of his cup.
She had taken a fancy that there was a general con-
spiracy against her, and that some night she was to
be killed. Occasionally, however, there would flash
across her folly and incoherence traces of her former
sweet loving self; and now, when all disguise was
impossible, it was manifest what a gentle soul she
had been, and how she had suffered from Paul's neg-
lect and coldness.

A terrible storm had raged over Paris on the 15th
of November, just three months since the birth of
the child.

The lightning and thunder lasted for hours. Re-

gina was violently agitated. Dr. 31 had been

in the Rue Bleue for hours, and had insisted, when

A RAINBOW ABOVE THE WRECK. 270

he left, on leaving a strong woman from one of the
Maisons de Sante in charge of Regina.

As soon, however, as Regina perceived a stranger
in her room, she shrieked so dreadfully, and implored
Paul so pathetically to send away her enemy, that
he yielded. In vain the keeper remonstrated with
him, and advised him at least to allow her to occupy
for that night his room, adjoining that of Regina.
As usual, he persisted in saying that all such precau-
tions were useless.

Very little ever transpired of the events of that
night. About three in the morning the house was
alarmed by the loud ringing of Paul's bedroom bell.
The keeper was the first to answer it. Regina was
kneeling on the bed, Paul holding her hands.

From what was wrung from Paul, it would appear
that after long watching he had fallen into a sound
sleep, out of which he had been awakened by the
pressure of something cold on his chest ; that by the
light of the night-lamp he had seen Regina in her
night-dress standing by his bed. She had laid her
baby on his breast. It was quite stiff and cold.
Regina had said to him —

" It never cried, Paul. N"o marrying for her."

What further had passed he never told, but from
Paul's exhausted appearance, there must have been
some fearful struggle. He had evidently rung his
bell, which luckily hung at the head of his bed, only
at the last extremity.

Paul is still travelling with his wife.

280 A PSYCHE OF TO-DAY.

In every letter he assures his mother that there is
a great amelioration in Regina's health of mind and
body, and that he exj^ects to bring her home shortly
quite restored. In his last, he adds, " A new era of
happiness for us all is at hand."

" Pray God it may be so !" sighs the mother.

THE END.

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