Richland beacon., 1880-03-06

] earlierT
! &c "Eor my pOrtrait~
."1 will come back. Good evening
sir"
| She raised her bundle of wood and
went away into the deepening shadows
beneath the archway of the dark chest.
nut tree.
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 ii
seemed to him that he locked at hef
with the.eyes of jealous lover. That
night and the next day seemed interim.
nablc to Kim; and long before the ap.
pointed hour he was in the glade.
HE worked alone. and when the young
girl arrived, little late ALREADY play.
ing the coquette-sbe was quite sur.
prised.
"Isit really myselfr she said. "Will
you give it to me!'
yourself" -O'
itf' " ~" w WIZ"
1T will 60 to Paris; it will be nut in
a large fraSe; it will be hung in A
beautiful gallery, and every one will
J Come and look at It."
"Ah! yes. know in the exhibition"
"Have you heard of the exhibition?"
"There are gentlemen painters here
who work for the exhibition, as they
say. but they never took my portrait"
| Daylight was fading gently; Maurice
found As on the preceding evening, the
exquisite soft .ints which had SC
charmed him, and his work advanced
hundred cubits toward posterity.
He saw her again several times be-
meath the checkered daylight Of his i'm.
provised studio, and he took pleasure in
making this work his best one. Already
celebrated, he had no need to make him.
elf name, and yet he was sure that
this picture would put the seal to his re.
nOwn.
By the time he was quite satisfied
with 1t winter had come, and Maurice
loved his little model. He loved her
too much to tell her SO, too much to
sully this field flower whom he could
not make his wife. but enough to suffer
at the thought of leaving her. She had
none Of those qualitie' which secure the
happiness of q life; neither the depth
Of feeling nor the devotion which causes
us to forget everything; che was pretty
iield flower, . little vain, q little co.
quettish, with no great faults nor vet
great virtues. Maurice knew that she
was not for him, and yet scarcely de.
veloped, 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 little handkerchief tied
across her breast-he loved it all, and it
was with reluctance that he went sway.
We always 60 away with reluctance
when we have nothing to hope for on our
return. 1t is so hard to leave behind a
bit of ones life of which nothing is to
remain.
He carried away his picture, however,
and it was before it that he passed his
happiest hours that winter, always per-
fecting work that was already perfect.
The picture was admired. The critics,
who were unanimous in their enthu-
siasm, declared that such faces could
not exist, excepting in the brain of a
poet or the Imagination of q painter.
Maurice listened, smiling, and kept for
himself the secret of the sweet face that |
had inspired him. He received bril-
liant offers for his picture; never had 40
high a price been offered for any OF his |
works; but he refused, and he refused
also to allow it to be copied. Since he |
was never to possess anything of his |
model but her Likeness. he intended |
that that should he his alone.
Autumn was drawing near when he |
returned to the village. Twice had the J
fires OF st. John seen the whirls of the |
merry dance since he had painted the |
portrait, and when he thought of the
young girl, it was with smile that was
something sad, as he asked himself on
which of the village rustics she fixed her
choice.
His first pilgrimage on arriving was
to the forest of chestnut trees; at the
fall of daylight comes suickly a: the
BEGINNING of October--he wandered
down the long path; but it was no longer
dark; it was traversed by an amber sun
beam, which seemed to nave fastened
itself on everyone of the leaves which
quivered on the brap ches or cracked
beneath his feet
The odOr of the dead leaves brought
to him a whole world of regrets. OF re.
Membranes of bitterness, stirring up
within him an unspeskable sadness, and
more complete disgust with everything
that he mad sought up to that time.
When he had reached the glade he sat
down on the spot where eighteen
months before he had made the sketch
which had since crowned his renown.
The cold stone seemed to laugh at him
ironically for all that he had suffered.
A peasant girl-a coquette--a matter
OF great consequence surely.
"She would have loved me had l
chosen. Many others have loved
paiaters, and have followed them to
Paris, and then have disappeared in
the scum of the great city without load
ing with chains the one who had initi-
ated them into the mysteries of art and
1