The daily dispatch. [volume] (Richmond [Va.]) 1850-1884, 1882-05-09
| | l..

Horace was staying at Oman. The Ba-
Ironess de Pontiac and her daughter had ar
rived, and called on Nine. d'IlarcOurt. OF
course, on lI0race's return he would he
dancing attendance upon his tidncee.
Robert had written. was too depressed
to feel wounded at the tone OF his reply, or
might have resented his agreeing with
me on the desirabllity OF breaking of the
engagement. In Il postscript he added
that he had the promise OF tine viearage Of
Capel-lc-FeTnc, and its 81 800 a year; and
/ came to the conclusion that his JOY at his
worldly advancement had taken away the
sting from his hearts adversely. | was
| thankful that 1t was so. The morning was
clear and bright. and a swim in the sen was
Il tempting remedy 10 drown dull care, 80
| strolled down leisurely to the beach.
was late, and when | emerged from my
(" cabane" found crowd Of gossiping
idlers in possession OF every chair and
available seat. Not nook or corner but
was filed with gay couples working, chat
| tering, smoking. and "lriyOlling."
| Classically draped in my white wrapper,
my hair piled up on high, undisfgured
with the oil-skin cap the French ladies al
| fected, | hurricdIy walked through the
crlticising audience, and, leaving my man.
| tie in Perrne's care, was soon disp0rting
myself in the crisp sunny waves. After a
longer swim than usual, ! waded out a
dripping Niobe. ] looked for Perrine and
my wrapper-i in vain; she was nowhere TO
be seen. After a momcntary hesitation |
prepared to run the gauntlet OF the assem-
bled multitude and make quick rush at
my sheltering cabanc.
| With a sudden inspiration / Embossed
my long hair and let lis shining golden
glory fall around my costume, thereby try
Ing to feel little less abiect, and so made
nv way through the "mOb," as | spite
| fully called the loungers surrounding the
cabanes. With ludicrous sense OF humil-
| iation and flaming cheeks | saw Horace in
| lively conversation with a Partisan clc-
gante, exactly in front Of my haven Of
refuge. | made a frantic dart at the can
vas door, to be greeted with the sight OF an
unmistaEable pair Of manly boots.
turned and fled-oh miserie i'm my con-
| fusion had forgotten the number. Unjust
pass them, vaguely wondering if beach
etiquette expected me TO acknowledge
| Horace. | prepared for another dash
when lady obligingly pointed out a can
vas tent with polite "c'eSt la, mademOi-
seHe," and rushed in to hide my bushes
under the friendly canvas. On my return
Bonne-maman told me she expected the
Baroness de Pontiac and her daughter and
Horace.
Although | was broken-hearted, vanity
was not dead; | determined to look my
best. | gathered my hair in knot, and
placed among the wavy fringe OF curls some
gorgeous crimson tinnias. 1 half feared
rebuke from BOnne-maman as 10 being
oyer-dressed-so slipped on black silk
gown, wherein had artfully inserted a
white lace tucker and shiny iet-cmbroider-
ed rufileS; another cluster OF scarlet TIM
Mas and black mittens finished of the
severe and becoming costume, in which !
entered the room prepared to make the ac-
quaintance OF the hateful de Pontacs.
Mdlle. Berthe only was there, arrayed in
fashionable attire, and | was scarcely sur
prised to recognize in her IIorace's lively
companion OF the morning. Horace be-
haved beautifully in BOnne-manan's eyes.
After greeting me coldly he overlooked my
insignificant presence, lost in the overpow-
ering brilliancy OF the sparkling and ANUS
Ing Berthe. She absorbed him entirely
They were making arrangements for a trip
to Mont st. Michel, where he and had
talked Of going. How wretched felt, how
wild with the scraps / heard " Train from
It. Malo-carriage ut Dol, on to the Hos
pice." Imust make diversion, and some
what abruptly asked Mdlle. de Pontiac TO
play or sing. In vain Bonne-maman OBJ
iected that it was getting dusk, and she did
not want lights, as it rested her eyes.
hdlle. Berthe, gracefully shaking out her
puts and laces, sweetly observed that she
would play for Nine. d'Harcourt and sing
for Mademoiselle.
She ratified through a noisy and brilliant
piece, and then her voice, sharp and metal
lie, filled the air: ''Si UouS naUez r7en me
dire" She was singing il at Horace, who,
apparently buried in thought, was sitting
near her. i wondered II he remembered il
as one OF the songs | had often sung TO
him. Bonne-maman coughed, and fidget-
ed, and shivered. Mdlle. Berthe bravely
sang on, sometimes flat, sometimes sharp,
finishing at last on a note that Jared every
nerve and fibre.
Horace was profuse in thanks, and |, too,
thanked her, and added Immediately
i" Shall sing you a little English balladi"
Bonne-maman interrupted me TO order the
lamp, but l maliciously remarked that |
would sing twilight song first. could
not resist my anticipated triumph.
Straight from my heart the words rang out
" In the Cleaning" and, vibrating strange
ly through the dusk, came the farewell To
my love, mine no longer: Best for you
and best for me.v
l must have sung better than usual, from
The deep silence paid as tribute to my
talent, and under cover OF the darkness
a