The Morristown gazette. [volume] (Morristown, Tenn.) 1867-1920, 1880-03-03
THE SACRIFICE.
[Fnoa TIE rRENoB OF HENRY eBEvmIE.l

Maurice was wandering aimlessly in
the depths of the forest. It had ceased
raining, but the drops of water were
still rolling from Leaf to leaf with the
light sound of a nearly-exhausted foun-
tain trickling into its half-flled basin,
and in the distance the dark path opened
out into wet glade of a deep green of
exquisite softness. The trunks of the
trees were very black, their branches
blacker still, and the massive boughs of
the chestnut trees above the young
painters head seemed like the high
arches of a cathedral at the hour when
all is dark in the church, and when the
colOred windows cast into the gloom
CLEANS of light so intense and so mys-
teriOus that you would think them lit
up by fire of live Goals from without.
Maurice loved this hour at the decline
of day, when, after the rain, the sun
has not shone out, and when gray tint
IS cast over everything, blending out
lines, sOftening angles and investing
every shape with a smooth and exquisite
roundness. He walked slowly, discover
ing every moment in the well known
forest some beauty till then unknown
and he was thrilled to the very depths
of being by that tender admiration for
nature which is one of the characteristics
of genius.
having reached the glade he looked
around him. The grass was green and
brilliant; the delicate leaves of the
shrubs, shining beneath the water which
had washed them, formed a fine, lace
like network against the dark back
ground of the great forest beyond. He
stopped in order TO see better, to observe
better and to take in better the impress
sion of the wet forest, more impressive
and more human so to speak, in its great
shadows than beneath the sunshine in
all the splendor of the day.
The pretty and graceful figure of
young girl stood out against the foliage
of the birch-trees. She advanced with
a supple movement, without perceiving
Maurice, who, as immovable as the
trunk of chestnut tree, was watching
her. When two steps from him the
young girl perceived him. She started
and let fall a few twigs from the fagot
of wood that she was carrying on her
head.
'You frightened me-" she said, smil-
ing, and her large black eyes shOne out
merrily beneath the tangle of her blonde
hair
He looked at her without answering.
A complete harmony which no words
can render, reigned between the slender
figure, the laughing face, the lace-like
foliage of the glade and the tints of the
landscape.
Stand still" said the young; d" am
going to take your portrait"
She wished to push back her hair,
which had fallen over her face, but he
prevented her by a gesture.
Remain as you are"
He seated himself on a stone and
Uketched 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 their often tardy |
developm ent. The eyes were already |
those of woman, while the smile was |
still that of a child.
How old are your asked the painter
still working.
shall soon be sixteen"
Already! l saw you three years ago
little bit of thing"
81 was very little" said she, with a
pretty laugh, and frank and bold as a
sparrow; but grew fast, and on st.
Johns day I shall have lovers.
Why, on St. Johns dayp asked |
the young man, stopping to look at her. |
Because one must have lover to |
dance with ground the bonfire"
So soonl That pure brow, those inno- |
cent eyes, that childish mouth, all !
these were to be profaned by the boor-
ish gallautry of a rustic! Maurice felt |
n vague jealousy avn inhis heart,
Viii you have me for a lOver?" |
said be, resumiDg his work
Oh, you'll you are a gentleman |
aud Il am peasant; good girls do |
not listen to gentlemen"
That is the village code of morals;
the young man answered nothing.
q" cannot see any longer; will you |
come back here tomorrow, a little |
earlier?'
+" For my pOrtrait?"
q Yes"
"I viii 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 it |
seemed to him that he locked at her |
with the eyes of jealous lover. That |
night ard the next day seemed intermI !
nsble to him; and long before the ap- |
pointed hour he was in the glade.
He worked alone. and when the young |
girl arrived, a little late ALREADY play |
ing the COquette-she was quite sur
prised.
3" Is it really myselfP' she said. " viii |
you give it to me?'
No, will make you little one for |
yourself"
And that one, what will you do with
it?7
at will go to Paris; it will be put in
q large frame; it will be hung in a
beautiful gallery, and every one will
come and look at it."
Ahl yes, 1 know; in the exhibition"
"Have you heard of the exhibitionT |
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 tints which had SC
charmed him, and his work advanced a
hundred cubits toward posterity.
he saw her again several times be-
meath the checkered daylight of his inn
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 it winter. had come, and Maurice |
loved his little model. He loved her
too much to tell her so, too much to
Eully this field flower whom he could /
not make his wife. but enough to suffer
at the thought of leaving her. She had /
nom ne thnsa nnalirias crhinh sennnra +l,e