Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1874-05-14


dow of IL private parlor in a hotel in Paris,
from which she cast frequent expectant glances
down the busy street.
1t is Elsie-no longer Elsie Deane-and
changed in many other respects, as we'll as in
name. The rustic simplicity of the village
girl has given place to a more polished and
high-bred air, enhanced by the style of dress,
which, though not of expensive material, is
fashionably and artistically made, while her
soft brown hair, though still permitted to flow
in natural curls, is disposed in manner to
give it less negligent appearance, and more
in accordance with the prevailing style. Some
thing of the round, dimpled contour of her
face, too, has disappeared its outlines seem
more delicately drawn, its rose-tints fainter in
hue, and the large, lovely eyes, once mirthtul
and sparkling, wear a softer and more slum-
brous look beneath their long, heavy lashes
An open book is on her knee, over which
she bends from time to time, in the intervals
of watching from the window.
"'Je MEN uais tn ten yas, II sen va,' ," she
murmurs mechanically, as if coming lesson.
"How hate verbs! wish Charles wouldn't
set me to learn them. l can never get the
pronunciation right, either. Nous noas en-
aNons'-I wish could say that in truth. l
hate staying here, it's so lonesome and dull.
People call Paris a gay city. I'm sure it's
anything but gay to me; the only nice part
of it is the opera. I wish Charles would
come home. 'Vous vous en- aHez'-oh, dear !
how tired am"
A knock at the door, and in obedience to
her shyly pronounced 'entrez' it opens slightly,
and brisk French countenance introduces
itself
| MADAME, supper is served"
"Is it so late?" asks Elsie turning round
"NIy husband is not yet come in
tits seven o'clock-the usual bour. Does
Madame prefer to wait?'
eff you please do not care to sit down
alone"
"Then I will keep the coffee and the rolls
hot, and Madame has only to ring when she
desires them brought back
"Thank you, JEAN"
Jean disappears, thinking what a sweet
voice and charming manner Madame has,
and what pity it is that Monsieur leaves her
so much alone. If she had other companions
his absence would be of no account; but soli-
tude is so ennuyant.
Elsie leans her pretty head against the win
dow and resumes her watch, thinking, at the
same time, of many things-of her peaceful
home; of her mother; of Jem, and the merry
girls who used to be her companions. What
long, long time it seems, since she has seen
them all She can scarcely believe that but
six months have elapsed, since she bade fare
we'll to the scenes and faces made familiar by
the associations of her lifetime. A brief life
time-eighteen years and half; but she feels
as if she we're much older. Her eighteenth
birthday was to have been the day Of her mar
riage to Jem-it had found her, instead,
Charles Sydney's bride, in a foreign land
Her hurried, unexpected flight from home
the hasty marriage rite performed by mag
istrate in an obscure French town-the rap
idly changing scenes of their journey the
busy bustling life of the vast city which is
their temporary abode-the very change she
feels in herself, all seem to put vast dis
tance between her present and her former life,
and make it appear as if these varied expe-
riences had required years, instead of months,
for their accomplishment.
1t is too dark for her to study any longer
soon it grows too dark for her to distinguish
the faces Of the street passengers, and with
sigh she leaves the window, and draws an
easy chair close to the polished CRATE where
little fire is burning, for the evening is chilly
and raw. Presently Jean enters with can
dies, but she begs him to take them away
again, until Mr.. Sydney comes; she likes the
freight best. She sits musing, with folded
hands and intent eyes, for long time-the
marble clock on the mantel ticks loud and
fast, busily interrupting itself to strike the
halfhour, then eight o'clock-halfpast eight
nine-and as she waits and listens, still mo-
tionless, the shadow of gathering anxiety
is on her face
Presently footsteps we're heard on the stairs /;
Elsie started from her detected attitude, and
her countenance lit up-but look OF disap-
pontment clouded it again, as the door open
ed, and she perceived that Charles was not
alone
"Hallo, Elsie, all in the dark" was his some
what boisterously uttered greeting, as he
made an ungraceful entrance, stumbling over
footstool that was not in his way, and kick
ing it noisily aside. 81 hate these trumpery
little benches and things all about-only fit
to bruise ones shins against Come in, old
fellow! no ceremony here-my wife; MIR.
George Russell-old school friend, Elsie !;
treat him as one of ourselves
Elsie silently bowed to the individual thus
presented to her notice, disregarding his ex'
tended hand. Something in his bold glance
and easy manner offended her delicacy, and
instinctively reused her mistrust. She looked
apprehensively toward her husband; his air
and appearance, so different from usual, filled
her with vague alarm she had never be-
fore seen him so flushed, so careless, so little
like gentleman in his looks and department.
flights, my girl, lights" he exclaimed.
"Why the devil are we kept in semi.darkness ?
Has that French rascal lost his seven senses ?"
"I'll ring for lights now," gently replied
Elsie who already had her hand on the bell.
uI +oI1 b;r, rot to hrinp them mill Won came