Ashtabula telegraph. (Ashtabula, Ohio) 1874-1880, 1879-12-19
which had fallen over her face, but
he prevented her by gesture.
'Remain as you are.


he prevented her by gesture.
"Remain as you are.
He seated himself on a stone and
sketched rapidly the outline and fea-
lures of his young model. She was
a peasant, but delicate and refined
as the young girls Of the peasantry
often are before their complete and
often tardy development. The eyes
were already those of a woman, the
smile was still that of a child.
"How old are you ?" asked the
painter, still working.
81 shall soon be sixteen"
"Already I saw you three years
ago a little bit of a thing"
81 was very little" " said she with
pretty little laugh, and frank and
bold as a sparrow, ''but | grew fast,
and on St. Johns day shall have
lovers"
"Why on St. Johns day ?" asked
the young man stopping to look at
her.
Because one must have a lover
to dance with around the bonfire" "
So soon! That pure brow, those
innocent eyes, that childish mouth,
all these were to be profaned by the
boorisb gallantry of rustic! Mau-
rice felt vague jealousy down in his
heart.
"Will you have me for lover 2"
said he, resuming his work.
ooh! you! you are a gentleman,
and l, | am peasant; good girls do
not listen to gentlemen.
That is the village code of morals;
the young man answered nothing.
81 cannot see any longer; will you
come back here tomorrow a little
earlier ?''
''FOr my portrait G''
eyes"
81 will come back. Good even
ing, SIR
She raised her bundle of wood and
went away into the deepening shad-
ows, beneath the archway of the
deep chestnut trees.
Maurice went home dreaming of
the fair haired child. He had seen
her often, and had always looked at
her, but with the eyes of an artist.
Now it seemed to him that he look
ed at her with the eyes of a jealous
lover. That night and the
next day seemed interminable to
him; and long before the appointed
hour he was in the glade.
He worked alone, and when the
young girl arrived, little late-al-
ready playing the coquette-she was
quite surprised.
'It is really myself" said she.
"Will you give it to me ?"
''No, will make little one for
yourself"
"And that one, what will you do
with it ?"
'It will go to Paris, it will be put
in a large frame, it will be hung in
beautiful gallery, and every one
will come and look at it"
"Ah! yes, 1 know; in the Exhibi-
tion."
"Have you heard of the Exhibi-
ton ?"
"There are gentlemen painters
here who work for the Exhibition,
as they say, but they never took my
portrait"
Daylight was fading gently; Mau
rice found, as on the preceding even
ing, the exquisite soft tints which
had so charmed him, and his work
advanced hundred cubits toward
posterity.
He saw her again several times
beneath the checkered daylight of
his improvised studio, and be took
pleasure in making this work his
best one. Already celebrated, be
had no need to make himself name,
aud yet he was sure that this pic
ture would put the seal to his re-
nown.
BY the time he was quite satisfied
with it, winter had come, and Mau-
rice loved his little model. He low
ed her too much to tell her so, too
much to sully this field flower of
whom he could not make his wife,
but enough to suffer at the thought
of leaving her. She had none of
those qualities which secure the hap
piness of a life neither depth of
feeling nor the devotion which caus-
es US to forget everything; nor the
passion which is an excuse for every
thing; she was a pretty field flower,
little vain, a little cOquettish, with
no great faults nor yet great virtues.
Maurice knew that she was not for
him, and yet he loved the graceful
lines of her figure, as yet scarcely
developed, and which her home-spun
gown chastely enfolded without
Disgusting. He loved the deep eyes,
the laughing mouth, the fair hair
that was always in disorder, the lit
tie handkerchief tied across her
breast-he loved it all, and it was
with reluctance that he went away.
We always go away with reluctance
when we have nothing to hope for
OH our return. It is so hard to
leave behind bit of ones life, of
which nothing is to remain.
He carried away his picture, how
ever, and it was before it that he
passed his happiest hours that win
ter, always perfecting a work that
was already perfect. The picture
was admired; the critics, who were
unanimous in their enthusiasm, de-
clared that such faces could not ex-
list, excepting in the brain of poet
or in the imagination of a painter.
Maurice listened, smiling, and kept
for himself the secret of
the sweet face that had inspired
him. He received brilliant offers
for his picture; never had so high a
price been offered for any of his
works; but he refused, and he re-
fused also to allow it to be copied
Since he was never to possess any of
his model but her likeness, he intended
that that should be his alone.
Autumn was drawing near when
he rpturded In the VILLAGE. twice