Daily globe. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1878-1884, 1882-12-28
LA BLONDE MEES."

7ah nymph, undulated. sparkling,
golden, magnificent !"
'sBut not pretty ?"
"Well, scarcely, perhaps; but a voice
All not a little tile5 de voix, but voice
aike a silver beR-clear, sympathetic.
"Shall like 6 Ia blonde Mees @"
Like her, yes; love her, no; for she
has no fortune"
So far had heard-overheard; let me
avow my dishonorable action. But
was "la blonde Mees," and it was too
tempting an opportunity The window
was open; was outside, lazily enjoying
a dreamy siesta in the rose bower, when
heard the murmur Of voices. NY god
mother was talking of me, and the deep,
pleasant voice asking SO many questions
about my Insignificant self was no other
than her august nephew, the son of her
only sister, who had married an English
man-her favorite, Horace Vernon.
<'No fortune, indeed" repeated, soft
4y, and then. clear as bell, I struck up
the old song:
Ny face is my fortune, sir, she said;
Sir, she said sir, she said
Over and over again, with every variety
of information. [ sang the words. Sud
denly l ceased. Instinctively 1 felt he
was nearing the window and meditating
a descent in search Of the singer. Hast
lily I fed; fear lent wings to my feet ::
blindly made a dash at the clipped
yew hedge and its iabyrinthine paths,
when suddenly stumbled, and should
have fallen but for the arms Hospitality
outstretched to save me. Recovering
myself quickly, drew back with hasty
dignity and exclaimed in my best
French. Monsieur p
He bowed. Mademoiselle are YOU
llurt?" he said, managing to infuse
much tender solicitude into the words.
Then with q quick look at me, before
could answer, he added: "Let me intro
,duce myself. I am Horace Vernon, and
you must be Miss Eugene Everard. [
have been hearing all about you from
my aunt. 80
I bowed and colored wildly. ayes !!
& La Blonde Mees, >" 1 could not help
'-etorting with a smile.
"Ah you overheard us?" he cried
with ludicrous expression of dismay.
Anger and the demons of co1uetry
prompted me there and then to take off
my. godmother, and 1 replied in her
voice: "Like her, yes love her, no
Cor she has no fortune"
The next moment I felt awkward and
confused, for had hardly realized the
meaning of the words. Mr.. Vernon
laughed.
"Well," he said, 81 promise
"Pronaise what?"
tsTo Like YOU
He offered me well-shaped, brown
land, into which, after moments hest
ltation, put my own. The fingers
closed over it in a protecting clasp, and
could not but look up gratefully into
the handsome sun-burnt face and the
merry blue eyes gazing down upon me,
as acknowledged the compact we were
making.
OF course my readers will have al
fcady decided that L, Eugene Eyerard,
shall presently fall in love with Mr..
Horace Vernon that he will recipro.
cate the tender feeling, and thereby
break his allnt's heart. and upset all her
~deeply-laid plans. But the clear-sighted
reader does not know that am turned
20, and have passed those important
years in the gay town Of London, where
tain Rev. Robert Duncombe, whose be.
4rothal ring wear on the orthodox fin
ger, and whose photograph I have duly
set in large golden locket, with the
touching Greek words A. E. L on one
side, and an impossible monogram Of
r. D. E. E. in raised fligree work on
Che other,
Robert is Of saving nature, and has
limited our correspondence to three
times week, but he never allows day
to pass without writing, and the budget
when it does come, is daily journal Of
his uneventful life. He wished me te
follow the same plan, but I am not ol
regular habits, and have declined to dc
more than reply to the folios as I receive
them. So much for my side. On the
other there's q certain heiress with 6
very large dot (millions of francs) des
tined for Mons. Horace. Bonne-mama1
particularly impressed this upon me
when she told me she expected hel
nephew at Dinard. I have not long
since arrived from England on si1
months visit to Bonne-maman, other
wise La Comtesse Eugene Refine Marie
d'Harcourt, my mothers old schoo
friend, and my godmother. I was
but a baby when I lost botl
mr. parents. After my father
Col. Everard's, death I lived with
my uncle, but misfortune seemed tx
claim me as her own; my poor aun
died suddenly, and my uncle, broken
hearted, drifted back into an aimles
state of bachelorhood. I felt burdel
upon him. Eagerly he availed himself
of Nine. d'Harcourt's invitation to me
and promptly saw me of to Southamp
ton from whence was shipped to st
Malo. There I was met by the Coun
tess man of-all-work, Jean Pierre, and
with him crossed over to Dinard, where
Bonne-mamanpived in bright, Cheerful
white house, with green jalousies, stand
ing in an old-fashioned garden, being
near the beach and the lovely bay will
its glittering sands of sparkling blacl
granite. Nine. d'Harcourt gave me /.
hearty welcome to Maison Malounie
and Perrine. the comelv- hlank he;-Ha