The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1875-07-31
MADEMOISELLE MARIE.
BY E. c. NJ.

BY E. C. NJ.
"Ah. how l was Innocent said old
Mrs. More, smoothing down her gray curls
as if she loved them even yet; "And my
hair, it was so pretty-ma mere thought it
was the prettiest hair in all the world.
Ma mere was good and gentle, and per-
feet Christian, true saint; but she made
me vain in those days. She loved me SO
dearly, and praised me all the time-my
sweet belle mere! For she was the second
wife of my father, you know, my dear;
but she loved vain little Marie as if she had
been her own child"
We were all gathered about the warm
fire in Mrs. More's parlor, listening to the
charming old lady, as only romantic school
girls listen to tales of love and life and
beauty antedating their own. l had always
had my own little romance about Sarah
More's mother-dear, plain, red-haired
Sarah! with home like fairy tale, and a
mother who was just the loveliest fairy
godmother!
For she wore red morocco slippers and
soft gray cashmere dresses and filmy tulle
caps with knots of ribbon on them; and
her white wrinkled hands sparkled with
diamonds scarcely brighter than her steel
blue eyes. Her chambers and parlors were
all floating draperies and rose Lined muslin
and odd antique furniture and vases; in
the midst of which the dainty old lady sat
embroidering or netting, with delicate
silver gray shawl about her shoulders; a
foamy, tieecy shawl that matched in color
the soft gray hair under her cap.
There she sat the Autumn evening when
Sarah first took me home with her to spend
rare half holiday; and there she sat sew
eral months later telling us in her silvery
voice, with the French twist in it, quaint,
delightful stories of her early life.
| "Ah. how was Innocent" she repeated
"and when ma mere came to me and said"
"' Marie, you are to cross the ocean and
marry your cousin Philippe, in America
not now, petite, but some day, never
dreamed of answering anything but only
Yes manaan.' For knew no man except
the old gardener and the priest and the
notary, and remembered my cousin Phil
ippe as tall, slim, curly haired young boy
who doubtless had grown up into gallant
genM Aonlr.e, and an eligible parti. But
ah. it was little that l dreamed what ma
mere meant when she said so sadly, 'some
dayn
The roses bloomed, red and white and
yellow, on the terrace; the little birds
began to sing in the trees about the cha
teau; and ma mere lay on sofa III the
salon and looked out of the window at the
flowers, and the blue sky of Spring. The
snow was melting on the mountains in the
far distance, and ma mere's cheeks were
white and chilly like the snow.
So before l knew there was any sorrow
coming, while l was gathering roses for
pot pourrt, and training the vines over the
trellis, and singing and laughing and chat
tering in my youth and folly my dear,
pretty belle mere had faded quite away!
1t was sorrowful child that stood, about
a month after ma mere's death, in the great
lonely hall of the chateau, and heard the
old notary read long letter from that
far-off cousin Philippe. He had gone some
where into the West, he said-I did not
comprehend half of it-and he could not
come at once for his cousin; but his mother
would meet Mile de Rimont in New York.
If NJ. de Notaire could find an agreeable
escort who would be en- regle for Mademoi-
selle, doubtless all parties would be we'll
pleased. He spoke no word of any betroth-
al, and wrote that his mother would warmly
welcome her dead brothers child.
Il will 60 at once said decidedly; for
my father had died almost penniless, and
long before ma 1nere's death the chateau
had been sold. We only staid on in our
own corner of it because the young par
venu, whose property it was, alas. did not
care to live in it for awhile. So l had no
money, and no one but my strange aunt in
all the world.
'Mademoiselle will wait until I find a
respectable compagnon de goyagep asked
the timid little notary.
Il will go at once, repeated imperious,
penniless Mile de Rimont; standing proud
ly, as had stood other noble, silk clad
demoiselles in her ancestral hall. Her
eyes were swollen with weeping; her hair
fell about her face; her shabby wooden
frock was worn and faded-what poor,
forlorn little aristocrat she was, after all!
But Cislt She was wilful and inexperi-
enced; and had her own way.
1t was hard to leave the old chateau and
the yellow roses and the birds and ma mere's
grave on the hill.
| Monsieur Octave met me on the terrace
the day l went away forever. He was the
young parvenu who had bought the cha
teau, and he had been staying in the village
making plans for improving his property,
and for great, new fashioned house he
was going to build. He had been very
kind to me when ma mere died, though
had never spoken to him alone.
Now he was standing on the terrace near
the grape arbor, and he held a bunch of
violets in his hand. His eyes were big and
black, and a color like our own red roses
flushed my face. l felt oh, SO guilty when
l knew that was blushing! He held out
his hand
and you are really going, Mile Marie9'
he cried. could not speak for the chok-
ing in mp throat; and he did not wait
you will nerer come back! Mon Dieu,
l shall be desoler he said mournfully; then,
with sudden dignity, { have name that
is at least an honest one, and have for
tune and heart that will lay at your
feet Mile de Rimont, have the honor
to offer you my hand
Il must go, NJ. Octave; 1 must goH I
was crying, when suddenly l remembered
my de Rimont pride, and choked back the
tears, saying with stiff little courtesy:
And | have the honor to decline, Monsieur
Octave
He kissed my hand suddenly and sadly,
| ~, 7 laft