The Stourbridge Observer, Cradley Heath, Halesowen & District Chronicle.
Stourbridge, West Midlands, England, 1884-02-16 00:00:00

BY FORTUNE DU BOISGOBEY

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become excited by her promises of further informa-
tion. "This is really absurd," thought he, as he
moved with the crowd into the theatre. "I am
creating myself troubles, when I have only to keep
quiet to be perfectly happy. I have made a name,
and earn more money than I spend. I am invited
everywhere, and it only depends on myself to make
a satisfactory marriage with any girl I love. Why
should I worry over the consequences of an incident
with which I was concerned by the merest chance?
It is all very well for Binos to amuse himself
running after murderers; but my time can be
better employed. Away then with old orange
women and poisoned pins. My duty to-night is to
please the lovely Marguerite. If I can obtain her
father's permission to paint her portrait for next
year's Salon, it ought to more than «mole me for
not being able to discover the man and woman who
perpetrated this crime."
Whilst thus reflecting, Freneuse had to force his
way through the tide of people pressing around on
all s!des—a matter of some difficulty. Just before
him was a big fellow, whose broad back barred the
passage, and who seemed to move slowly on pur-
pose to try the patience of those behind. After
several ineffectual attempts to pass between this
person and the wall, Freneuse tried whether a push
might hasten his advance. The man uttered some
rough words and turned upon the artist, who ex-
perienced a strange sensation on seeing his face.
Was not this the very same man who had travelled
on the Imperial of the omnibus the night of the
murder? There were the same hard, cut features
—the same gray moustaches, the same military
whiskers, the same sturdy expression. His dress
only was changed—instead 9f a great coat and
shabby felt, this man wore a black cloth surtout and
a new silk hat. He glanced rapidly at Freneuse
with a pair of fierce black eyes, surmounted by
thick brows, but doubtless considered him unworthy
of his anger, for instead of protesting he resumed
his position, though he hastenedhis pace so as to allow
Paul to pass, and quickly disappeared down the
orchestra corridor.

"Anyone would declare he recognised me and has
stolen off," said Freneuse to himself; "if only Linos
were here, and I told him my impressions, how he
would follow this fellow up! But he is not, and 1
do not mean to take a leaf out of his book." With
which wise reflection he reached the first tier; the
people who had delayed his progress having nearly
all had their places in the parterre. He looked for
the lox—a front one—and having found it, called
the attendant, resolved not to think of the recontre
he had just made. The woman quickly answered his
summons, and, opening th box, ushered him into
the presence of M. Paulet and his daughter.
Fieneusehad the happiness to perceive that Mdlle.
Marguerite's cheeks reddened; on his arrival, a cir-
cumstance that tended to raise his hopes, while M.
l'aulet received him in the most cordial and flatter-
ing manner. He rose at once, extending both his
hands to the new corner, for whom he insisted on
placing a footstool himself. But Paul only took a
seat after paying a well-timed conpliment to the
young lady, acknowledged by a gracious smile.
"I was sure," said M. Paulet, "you would not
deprive us of the pleasure of your company. But I
must thank you nevertheless for devoting this even-
ing to us."
The wealthy merchant was a small, spruce old
man with a pleasant face and most correct toilette.
Ile ;lad a ready, agreeable way of speaking; little
decided gestures and a physiognomy that would
have been thought benevolent had it possessed more
frankness. % , His eyes, however, detracted from his
other features. They seldom looked you in the face,
and moved restlessly. The mouth smiled a little
too often—the smile was apt to become mechanical •
still the whole countenance was attractive, and
Paulet would make a very presentable father-in-law.
Mademoiselle Marguerite did not resemble him.
No doubt she owed her figure to her mother, as also
her complexion, and that careless grace which gave
such a charm to her appearance. She seemed to
have come from a refined race, whereas her father
was wantine, in the mysterious distinction that springs
from goof breeding, but, although quite satisfied
w:th his own appearance, he greatly admired and
valued his daughter's aristocratic air.
Freneuse knew well how to please, by paying him
such small attentions as an artist would not generally
deign to bestow on bourgeois. He even contrived to
humour M. Paulen love of talking art at every
turn, whether ho understood it or not, and would
listen gravely to long dissertations upon painters,
ancient and modern, not disdaining to make suitable
replies.
Mdlle. Marguerite was perhaps no better informed
than her father, but she had the tact to avoid incur-
ring the contempt of a man she rather Eked, by
keep;ng silence upon topics she did not understand.
"My dear fellow," began M. Paulet, "you have
arrived just in time to give judgment in a little
dispute between us on a point of art."
"I protest at once aainst such• an office," said
Freneuse, modestly. "'I am sure you cannot be
wrong, and Mademoiselle would certainly not err."
"014, don't try to fence the question in that way.
You are quite competent to decide between us, and
you must give us your opinion. Besides, the diffi-
culty has arisen about yourself."
" I feel highly complimented that you and
Mtrlomoisollo shouldEhavo doomed worthy of
your thoughts."
"Be assured, my dear Freneuse, we often speak
of you. You are not forgotten, by those who
have the honour of your acquaintance; and although
we do not know you so intimately as we could wish,
at least we know your pictures, which are well
worthy of study. Your name is in everybody's
mouth and in all the papers. On every hand I hear
of the picture you mean to exhibit this year. They
say it will be the feature of the Felon. Well, it is
precisely about that picture we were differing--"
" But, ' objected the artist, "I regret you have
never done me the honour of coming to see it. You
could then have better judged."
" Oh ! I know what it is; the artistic world is
full of it—a younglgoat-herd of the Camparrna seated
at the foot of the tomb of Metella—no of Cecilia—
never mind of some tomb; and between ourselves
you might have chosen a more lively subject, be-
cause tombs, don't you know, however fond one
may be of pictures, one does not like to see such a
thing in one's drawing-room; it may stand in the
way of selling."
"Oh ! Cecilia Metella died such a long time ago,"
said Freneuse seriously, repressing a great inclina-
tion to laugh.
"That's all very well," replied M. Paulet;
"but we were not discussing that point. I was
arguing with Marguerite that all you artists were
wrong in confining yourselves to the reproductions
on your canvasses of Italian men and women. And
I maintain that, as female models especially, the
French can furnish you with wonderful types of
beauty."
"You are perfectly correct, sir, and I should not
have far to go to find one,"said Freneuse, pointedly,
looking at Mdlle. Paulet.
" There ! What did I tell you," cried M. Paulet.
"Freneuse declares you would make a superb
model." . -

"I can hardly fancy myself looking well as a
goat-herd of the Roman Campagna," replied Mar-
guerite, laughing.
You would lookwell many aress, Mademoiselle,'
said Freneuse warmly.
"It does not, however, follow that I should look
well as the character you have selected. Italians
are not fair, as far as I know, and I have the mis-
fortune to be so. The sun has not enriched my
complexion nor darkened my hair; and my features
are quite devoid of character."
" Stuff!" said M. Paulet cutting short Freneuse,
who was about to utter a compliment. "You are
very well as you are, and I know plenty who think
the same."
" I beg you will include me in that category,"
exclaimed the artist, delighted at the opportunity of
evincing his admiration of Mademoiselle Margue-
rite's beauty.
"I assure you," continued the Father, "I find
it impossible to grow ecstatic over the faces you go
so far to obtain. They are pretty enough, these
ltom tn girls, with their tan-coloured skins and their
liquid eyes; but what dresses !—garments a cook
would not dare to masquerade in on Shrove Tues-
day. They should not be permitted to go out in such
guises."
"You are severe upon these poor girls," answered
Freneuse; "they are forced to consider their trade
and to pose as models; they could not dress in the
height of fashion."
Yes; [ understand that; they must wear suit-
able colours. I know something about the subject,
although only a man of business. But were I a
painter, 1 would manage differently. I should keep
a wardrobe with all sorts of clothes, and when I
wanted a Fornarina I should select some French
woman, dress her up, and there would be my
odel."

"But that would never -answer," said the
dahter ; "the type is so different."
"Don't bother about your types! Beauty is
beauty, whatever may be said."
Freneuse bent down his head and was silent. lie
did not care to enter into a discussion with a man of
s :eh ridiculous notions, and questioced himself
whether he could possibly tolerate a father-in-law so
destitute of artistic sentiment. _

trguerite guessed what was passing in his mind,
and favoured him with a look which made him at
once oblivious of prejudices. It said so many
tli:ngs. It was tender—almost supplicating. It im-
plored pardon for the parent's errors in taste, in con-
sideration of the daughter's superior endowments.
"Besides," continued the capitalist, "I have par-
t'eular reasons for disliking Italians. Do you
knot, my dear fellow, that those vagabonds may
deprive me of a fine inheritance which ought to come
from my brother?"
"Indeed 1' said Freneuse, astonished; "I was not
aware you had a brother."
" Few of my friends know it, for he lives in the
iu evinces, and does not bear the same name as I.
My mother was twice married, and this brother is
the son of her second husband. I am his only living
relative and his heir, but I never see him. We
ql arrelled a long time ago, so he took it into his head
to live in a small town in the south, on the pretext
that the climate of Paris did not agree with him.
Marguerite-has never seen her uncle."
" Th tt is hardly a reason for disinheriting you,"
raid Freneuse, abstractedly, for these particulars
faii(d to interest him,

" No ; but he was always a curious fellow, and
imagined in his youth that he had some talent for
painting, so he passed several years in Italy daubing
canvases—the best of which is not worth fifteen
francs. If his wealth consisted only of his paintings,
he would have starved long ago; but he is a rich
mm—as rich as myself, if not richer. But it would
not surprise me if he made a will in favour of a
child he had in Rome."
"He was married then?"

"It was said, but not proved. Rumour declared
he had been fool enough to wed a wretched creature
who used to sit for his pictures. For my part, I
don't believe he went so far as that. Nevertheless,
he is free to leave his property as he pleases, and
quite capable of willing it to his natural child. You
can understand now, my dear Freneuse, why I have
such a dislike to Italian models."

"And what is still more curious in the story,"
continued M. Paulet, "this simpleton of a brother
has not, up to the present, troubled himself about
the family he hal in Rome. After arranging so as
to end his days there' he suddenly changed his mind,
and took it into his head to return to France. He
has now established himself a hundred and fifty
leagues from Paris—an out-of-the-way part of the
country—where he lives like a hermit. When I
heard of this resolution, I wrote desiring a recon-
ciliation. I proposed his coming to live with me,
and would have gladly sacrificed my time so far as
to go into his desert to bring him here. His answer
was a cold letter refusing any renewal of intimacy,
or even an interview. Thus have we remained for
ten years. But you may be certain I have had him
well watched, His notary is in my interest, and
keeps me informed of his actions. The last news I
received were to the effect that my half-brother had
spoken of making a will in favour of some strange
person, and I feel by no means easy about it. But
I have takea some precautions." _ _ _

"My dear fathei," interrupted Marguerite, "these
details cannot amuse M. Freneuse, and the curtain
is going up, so please let me look and listen."
"Right, my child. I trust our friend will excuse
my troubling him with a famili story. It is for
thy sake I am thus disturbed, for my brother's
fortune will go to thee after me. And, besides, I
wish to explain to Paul the reason for my dislike to
Italians," added M. Paulet. " But it shall not pro.
'vent my going some day to see his picture."
Freneuse made a bow of assent, and the curtain
rising at that moment, no other reply was needel.
He had, in fact, hardly listened to the confused
story which Marguerite's father had just narrated; but
he could not help acknowledging that the conversa-
tion of the millionaire was far from interesting and
in matters of art his notions were simply ridiculous.
Freneuse could not bring himself to discuss the
merits of models who left Rome to pose in Fren h
studios. He was much more interested in silently
contemplating the splendid head of the young lady
before him, which seen three-quarter face looked as
though it might have been cut out of the canvas of
some Flemish master. The artist was absorbed in
this study which seemed in no wise disagree Ible to
Mdlle. Marguerite, while M. Paulet, armed with an
enormous glass, looked round the house full of
spectators. "She is splendid," thought Frenease,
as he examined with the eye of a connoisseur the
lines of her pure profile, "and I fancy she is intelli-
gent and kind hearted. Whoever she may love
will be a happy fellow; and after all her husband
will not be forced to live with his father-in-law. I
wish she were not so rich, and her father less of a
tradesman. His ideas horrify me. It is surprising
he does not see we never agree on any suk,ect. He
shows plainly that I please him; but I hardly see
why, for I have done nothing to make him like me.
Perhaps he is not sorry to show me off to his friends,
just as they exhibit a rare bird; it is a sort of
vanity common enough among people of his class.
He likes-to appear the companion of artists. Ne er-
theless, there must be some further motive behind.
Perhaps he is thinking of making me his son-in-
law. The main question is, "Do I please the
young lady ?" I do not care to advance in that
dires2tion to find myself deceived. lam not yet in
love with her; but I should certainly become so if
I were to pass many evenings by her side. I must
profit by this opportunity to risk a trial."
While ',holding this sage discourse with himself,
Freneuse feasted his eyes on th 3 beauty of Mdlle.
Paulet, who appeared to be turning her whole atten-
tion to the performance, though she was perfectly
conscious of the effect she was producing upon her
young companion. At length she seemed somewhat
annoyed by his persistent admiration, and borrowed
her father's opera-glass to level it at Jack Sh evhercl,
virbz .713 then coming on the stage.
(To be continued.)