The Portland daily press., 1865-08-21
Monday Morning, August 81, 1885
UNDER THE CHARCOAL. |, ! /.

MONDAY morning, AuguSt n, 1900
UNDER THE CHARCOAL. 3bsAH
Ii New York you may live next door to an
other for five and twenty years and never
know his name. In Paris your own brother
might occupy rooms under the same roof and
marry and die there and never guess the neigh
borllood of a knsman. For those who desire
it, il is the loneliest place in the world. sefix
No one unless itWas the porter of the many
stored house in the Rue De-, knew that
Monsieur Paul Dupont occupied an troiiSeme
of that dwelling, or that he was an artist. 1T
was matter of perfect indifference to all but
his lew artist friends. For the matter of that,
poor folks are of very little consequence any
wheie, whether they paint, or sing, or act or
scribble. When they become rich, it Is anoth-
er thing, and folks take, notice Of them, and
they should put their names in the directory
and let the world know when they are at
home. But a poor man or woman--bala!-
Paris as a general thing, let Monsieur Dupont
paint alone, and the Emperor had never visit
ed his studio yet. 1t was an odd place that
studio Gu tr05sieme. A litter of portfolios and
canYasses and casts and tassels and pictures IN
frames and out Of them; where segars and
meerschaums lay about and empty wine bot
ties which had contained very innocent and
sour French wines, graced the corners; where
there was north light and canvass in the
lower part OF the window, and a pot for the
making of chocolate and any number of the
oldest old French books, and some modern
ones by Sue and George Sand and Dumas
where there were also violin, a flute and a
guitar, sword and a couple of pistols, some
times hanging up, sometimes fallen down and
sometimes in use, even the pistols, for there
was painted circle with spot in the center
over the mantle at which Monsieur Paul often
took aim for practice, without bringing in a
nelehbor or discomposing the mind of the
landlord. There are so many suicides in Paris
that when man hears the report of pistol
he only thinks, 1T is my neighbor blowing his
brains out" and does not interfere with What
does not concern him. a9sae ssatpay
Uhroofng this, la Asmodeus, to take a
peep, you might have seen one bright May
morning Monsieur Paul Dupont standing de-
spairln ly before q picture-a sort of picture
one might have expected Of Fenchman of
three-and-twenty-air graceful and romantic.
A lover at the feet of his beloved, in pictur-
esqua nook beside fountain; castle in the
distance; duenna asleep under the trees on
a garden bench. A picture destined to be
called "La Declaration" The youth was
handsome, the duenna brown and corpulent,
the maiden alas but a ghost-like sketch
There was the difficulty; Paul could find no
model for his beauty. as
True plenty were to be hired for SO many
sous an hour, but he wanted an Innocent face,
and much staring at in artists studios had
banished the blush from most of the faces
young and pretty enough for his purpose
Monsieur Paul had always found it Impossible
not to initiate the expression of his models
and it would not do for the heroine OF aIsa
Declaration" to look brazen At last he flung
down his brushes, kicked over stool, put on
his hat with its pendent tassels, and his vel Ell
paletot, and went down stairs and went into
the hue de Capuchin. 1t was a quiet street
enough. The houses looked half asleep. The
only sound was the distant rumbling Of vehi-
eles in some wide thoroughtare and the hide
Gus yell of fish woman, with basket on
her head, crying her stock for sale. Monsieu,
Paul sauntered on, with his hands deep in the
pockets Of his paletot, and looking in the air
forgot to watch bis feet. Shey struck sudden
-ly against something, and somebody uttered a
shrek, and cried: t,s.s5.9
aAh! he has destroyed them" a8 dsasIa
Looking down, Monsieur Paul saw girl
and an overturned basket of vioiets. He had
run against flower girl and, thrown. down
her merchandise unaware. saf is iaasIs3
An Englishman would have uttered naughty
words, and asked her why she couldn't keep
out Of the way. You who read this can tel
me best what an American would have done
The Frenchman stopped down, and began
to pick up the blossoms with little "Par
dom" 6eT q issSg sgsff
At that the head was lifted, and under 8
golden fleece of hair Paul Dupont saw the face
he wanted. An innocent face--a beautifu
face-the face of perfect blonde. Perhaps
she was seventeen, but certainly no older
Earliest girlhood fingered yet in her blue
eyes. h' s.'.r
Paul forgot the flowers. "Will YOU sit 70,
Ine?S he said abruptly. Then remembering
that she might not understand him, he weni
on; 81 am an artist. desire to find mode
for figure am painting. If you will oblige
me, 1 will pay you well" A asa
The girl shook her head slowly, hesitated
and said: Il do not understand; am ar
American" N nssnaeA
Paul collected his thoughts. He had /
smattering of English, and he said, 81 shal
speak to you in pAnglaise You compre
hend?" silsil Z. nAi3 3
'sYes,p said the girl simply, and she listened
as he spoke, and explained in broken English
musical and pretty enough, what he mean
and wanted. f saiEiseA
She understood, and unused moment, wheI
she looked up into his eyes and the glance
said, "Can I trust you?" aai48 5s8 ssea1saI
He answered the look, for there were nc
words, Il shall be good to you. There is no
need to fear.o fs e ~ i.isI
And his kind young eyes looked frankly in
to hers, and she arose and followed him, witt
her vlolets on her arm, up those long dingy
stars 70 the atelier, with its north light, and
ON the dais, she looked loyelier than ever as he
taught her how to turn her head and pIact
herself, and painted her shadow outline On
the canvass. That first sitting was not the
last. ohe came again and again. At length
Monsieur Paui discovered why she was bad
70 earn lne co'n ne gave her. Her mother
was dying OF consumption She was on
American. year before she had come r.
Paris, led by the hopes of recoverino so,ee =
property which had belonged to her Toad sIfa' e
ther. who was native of France. That hon.
was futile, and by the time they knew It to he
so, the mother was taken i'll, and now theh
money was all gone, and they could not retl,,T
to their native land, as she was dying. ssSe
what could do'; said the girl, Il could no
sec her starye. Though my father was
French1nan, / do not understand the language
need do nothing but offer these flowers, am
have earned my bread and little wine an
soup for my mother. When she is gone
shall care no longer, but just lie down an
die"
at is sad for YOU" said the young French
not die" 2
should live and love, he thought althoug
ne old not say so. Monsieur Paul Dupor
was poor himself, but after this MANY loa
ana Dotue OF Wine found its way to the un
SHOWN woman dying in foreign land. Eron
tnat DAY she did not suffer from want
And that picture was long naintino II
seemed as though the golden hair and blu
yeS - Moula has.l never be done. Paul Dupont wa
In no naste whatever; for let the secret crae,
out, this friendless American girl sall;na ba
flowers IN the streets Of Paris, hapnv to 90 ur :,
the francs ne gave her for the copying Of t5a
sweet face, had won the young artists hear, ~1r
dc hardly knew it himself until one dav sb
entered ms room trembling and weepins. an,
soobed forth, MY mother is dead" Then th