The Hancock Jeffersonian. [volume] (Findlay, Ohio) 1857-1870, 1867-08-09

tied her, but only one gentleman as
yet has mustered up sufficient cour-
age to pop the question:
Really, Eugene. this is a most
singular and interesting affair. ! am
tempted 10 visit the Lady OF Larose,
merely oul % curiosity
DO so, Victor; perhaps something
may come of It, Good bye
A few days after this conversation,
Victor put on the best suit OF clothes
his scanty wardrobe contained, and
proceeded to visit the Lady of La.
rose. He did not go at once TO the
house, but wandered about the
grounds, delighted with the beauty
of the scene. A new surprise met
him at every turn. In one place he
came to little riyulet running
through the grassy turf, which was
geGmed, with a thousand flowers
Here he came across grotto, whose
cool recesses wooed him to enter
In. another place he saw fountain
OF water sparkling in the sunlight
He reached tho flowery eminence,
which was adorned with a pavilion
so delicatoly constructed that it
might have been the work OF fairy
hands. Around and about the spot
gorgeous pheasants and stately pea
cocks walked with pompous steps.
AT last his eyes rested upon the
crowning glory of the scene-the
superb villa of Larose.
Victor advanced with hesitating
steps to the magnificent porch, where
he was met by servant, who polite
ly invited him to walk into the house.
Entering the saloon, the young man
was amazed at the splendid display.
He began to repent of his presump-
s+On in daring to offer himself as a
suitOr to the possessor of SO much
wealth; he dreaded to meet the Lady
Of Larose, and thousand times he
wished himself back in his poor
chamber.
While occupied with the thought,
the door opened and Emile Lamont
entered. Victor arose and bowed as
she came forward, without raising
his eyes TO her face. With a voice
as sweet as angels when welcoming
souls to elysian bliss, she addressed
him, and on the subject which is al
ways interesting to every man-him-
self.
May ask whether you are Mon.
sieur st. Aubyn, the poet?'
i do not know, Mademoiselle,
whether l deserve the name of poet,
but l plead guilty to publishing a
volume of verse year ago, which
brought me but little fame and less
money
Your beautiful book should have
secured you both
'Am | to understand that Madem-
oiselle Lamont has read my little
bookf'
i have read and admired it over
and over again, and if all the world
were like me, your book would have
made you famous
IF all the world were like you, this
world would be a PARADISE cried
Victor, overj0yed to hear his book
praised.
Look at me, Monsieur st. Aubyn,
is paradise composed of such?'
Victor raised his eyes to her face;
those lips were indeed hideous, but
from them had come words Of praise
| and S,aSSu.sSs ~ Siirr. hiu. oi,-
ward in his effort to reach Fame's
proud temple. Those cheeks were
thin and yellow, but perhaps they
had glowed with enthusiasm over his
poetry.
If you will excuse me Mademois-
ellie, ! will say that the hour is not
quite so plain
Don't mince matters, Monsieur
st. Aubyn, my glass tells me the
truth, and want you to do like
wise
But, Mademoiselle, it is not Gus
tomary for gentlemen to speak so
plainly to ladies about their personal
appearance
Monsieur Victor st. Aubyn, ]
want you to understand for once, and
for all, that Emile Lamont is not
like other women. Therefore do not
hesitate to say just what you think of
me-
We'll, then, if you insist upon it, /
can only say that you are bitter uS y.
Bitter ugly! l like that, indeed;
that is quite refreshing. Bitter ugly
very goodn cried Emile, with a
laugh as sweet and musical as sill
yer bell. ,.a
i am glad my plain language has
not offended you. 1t is certainly
venturing upon rather dangerous
ground to tell lady thst she is
ugly
You must remember that am not
like other women f-~
Emile rung the bell and ordered
the servant tie have everything ar
ranged in the blue room. le
You have harp, Mademoiselie,
do you play and singf' asked Victor,
drawing her attention to superb in.
strument in a corner of the room.
Sometimes, to while away a weary
hour
eWill you favor me with some mu-
sic?' he asked, handing her the harp.
with pleasure, said Emile, light
ly touching the strings, and eliciting
strains that might have come from
the inspired fingers of st. Cecilia
What shall / singi'
Your fayorite; an sure what
pleases you will please me-
Thank you. Listen And Emile
sung one of his own little songs with
e voice sweetly pathetic. - !
Victor was deeply affected, and
when the last sad notes died away,
he said: 'Mademoiselle, thank you
on my knees for your sweet kindness
in singing that and calling it your
fayorite.'
As he spoke, a door at the lower
end of the room glided back, dis
playing an inner apartment arranged
for repast. -A
Monsieur, will you partake of
some fruit which is served in the
next room2 t# 5rHff
i Thank you,' said Victor, rising,
and offering Emile his arm to escort
her to the next apartment.