Mineral Point tribune. (Mineral Point, Wis.) 1869-1938, 1881-10-20

snowy brow, with its greet innocent
blue eyes half contradicted by the
archness of the smile running over in
dimples, was the facts of bis dreams.
of his ideal, of Kate Rivers as he had
never dared hope 10 see her.
He sprang forward: but they had
paused only one moment, and then
Count haurepaire had bent before her
with questioning air. and they were
gliding down the room together in
waltz that made Mr.. Vincent Maurice
gnash his teeth. She was taken back
to her cousins presently, and the count
drew about her the swan's-down wrap
that Mr.. Rivers had held, and they
went out on the piazza, and she passed
within yard of him, without seeing
him, without dreaming of the eager,
pallid face, without seeing the quick
movement, the half outstretched hand,
as unconcerned, lifting the spotless
lace of her train, as if he were waiter
standing there, and passing on into the
moonlight, in the snowy futter of her
drapery and the soft white down of her
mantle, a vision of maidenly grace al
most too lovely to be real. No sleep
visited his pillow that night; the vision
hung before his eyes; he heard, as one
hears bell in the ears, the warm rich
tones, the low sweet laugh, in which
she seemed to be rehearsing the scenes
of life with which he had nothing to
do-scenes of summer in France at
the old chateau of the Beaurepaires,
famoUs y, song and story.
de was hagg&rd az be looked at him
self in the glass next day, but he could
endure to wait no further; perhaps his
very haggardness would fight on his
side, for he began to see himself not
altogether as conquering hero. AS
soon as he dared he sent his card to
Mrs. Rivers parlor, and having tipped
the servant, followed him boldly up.
Maurice? Maurice?" he heard Mrs.
Francis Rivers say, holding his card,
the door ajar. "Put down your book,
Kate. Do you know anybody of the
name-Mr. Vincent Maurice"
Mr.. Vincent Maurice? On, yes"
came the musical tones again. 81
used to know him very well. We were
great friends once. To tell you the
truth, Mary, l used to think he was the
one man in the world. Why do you
ASK"
"Don't you hear? This is his card.
Will you see him? You are SO alb
sorbed in that Daudet--"
"That the servants rap didn't pene-
trate the atmosphere | was living il.
Unhealthy stuff; l mustn't read any
more Of them. See him? Well, no, /
think not. The horses will be at the
door in half an hour, and | would like
to finish this chapter"
He did not stay to hear any more.
He stood leaning against a pillar some
hours later on the return of the riders,
he saw her sitting her horse like Di
Vernon; saw her ompanion bending
over her one moment too long as he
lifted her from the saddle, while
the grooms held the horses; saw
the quick color come to her
cheek with deeper d"mask as he
France to have revenueL of her own.
She is little sad, though, to let the old
place go for all. But the Chateau Beau
repaire is infinitely more beautiful, she
says; hundreds of years old, and his
toric; on an island in lake, with wood
ed hills inclosing it beyond the gardens
and deep glrdes and forests"
He did not understand the letter.
Why was his mother writing to him
about the Chateau Beaurepaire? That
was the scattering way in which she al.
ways ran on And what did he care
for the revenues of coal lands? 1t was
not money he had wanted; no one could
say that. All he gathered from the
letter was that Kate was going to France
again. If she did he would follow her.
And ne cursed the broken ankle that
now was keeping him prisoner where
he was. He had written to her, twice
and thrice, but he had not sent the let
tiers those that had come back I'M
opened once seemed to bar the way.
And then he felt as if his presence his
eyes, his voice, his words, were more
effective than any silent writings He
did answer his stepmother's note, and
her correspondence was always at long
intervals.
Some business, however, sent him to
Washington in the very early winter,
although before ne felt quite able to be
out. And as most doors opened before
him, he found himself one night at a
reception at the British minister's.
such things were old stories to him; he
cared nothing for them; he did not
know why he had come; because others
did, he supposed-because Godfrey
wanted to be taken; and he was leaning
listlessly against a pedestal under a
bronze bust of Nemesis, when a party
lifted the curtain, coming in from an
adjoining room, and he started, for it
was Kate Rivers.
If she had stepped out of the gates
of sunrise she might have looked the
same the same dimpling bushes, she
did so; and then she had swept by, and
he heard this and that excited COM
ment-what dazzling beauty what
combination of gracious ease. and
proud reserve what strange union of
the sweetest maidenliness with the
savoir-faire Of woman of the world
He turned away; his haggard face, his
tortured heart, were nothing to this
woman of the world. Yet he meant to
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