The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1883-09-06
WOOIEG BY PROXY.
A Pretty Love Story Well Told.


She is leaning back in deep crimson
chair, with white dress sweeping in
long shining folds about her. She is
talking to two or three men with that
rather weary grace he has grown accus-
toned to see in her, and which is so
different from the JOYOUS smiles of the
Jeanne de. Beaujen whom he loved SO
long ago. He is watching her from the
opposite side of the salon as he stands
beside his hostess, and tells himself
that it is for the last time. He is going
to her presently, and he knows just how
coldly she will raise the dark eyes that
once never met his without confessing
that she loved him. He knows just
what he will say and what she will an
swer, and there is no need for haste in
this last scene of his tragedy.
ga man should know when he is
beaten" he is thinking, while he smiles
vaguely in reply to Nine. de Soule' 9
commonplaces. "There is more stupid
ity than courage in not accepting de-
feat while there is yet time to retreat
with some dignity. For six weeks l
have shown her, with a directness that
has, dare say, been amusing to our
mutual friends, that after ten years
absence my only object in returning to
Paris is her society. She cannot avoid
meeting me in public, but she has stead
lily refused to see me when l call upon
her, or to permit me word with her
alone. | have been a fool to forget
that all these years in which regretted
her, she has naturally despised me, but
at least it is not just of her to refuse me
a hearing" The moment he has been
waiting for is come. The little court
about her disperses, until there is but
one man beside her, and she glances
around with look of mild appeal
against the continuance of his society.
De Palissier has escaped from his
hostess in an instant, and the next he is
murmuring, with the faintest suspicion
of tremor in his voice, ''Will Nine. de
Miramon permit me dance?"
Thanks, M. de Palissier, but l am
not dancing this evening"" she replies,
with exactly the glance and tone he ex-
poets.
''Will madame give me a few mo-
ments' serious conversation" and this
time the tremor is distinct, for even the
nineteenth-century horror of melodra-
ma cannot keep a mans nerves quite
steady when he is asking a question on
which his whole future depends.
Zone does not come to balls for Sc
rious onversation-" she begins
lightly.
Where may l come, then?" he in
terrupts eagerly.
Nowhere. There is no need for Sc
rious conversation between us, M. de
Palissier, she replies, haughtily, and
rising, she takes the arm of the much
edited gentleman beside her, and moves
away.
1t is all he has prophesied to himself,
and yet for moment the lights swim
dizzily before him, and the passionate
sweetness of that Strauss waltz the band
is playing stabs his heart like knife.
For moment he does not realize that
he is standing quite motionless, gazing,
with despair in his eyes. after Nine. de
Miramon's slender, white-clad figure,
and that two or three people, who have
seen and heard, are looking at him with
that amused pity which sentimental
catastrophe always inspires in the spec
tatorS.
Some one touches his arm presently
with her fan, and with start he comes to
himself ana recognizes Lucille de Beau
jen, the young sister of Nine. de Mira
mon. whom he remembers years ago as
child, and with whom he has danced
several times this winter.
'sAnd our waltz. monsieur?" she asks
gayly ''Do not tell me that you have
forgotten it. That is evident enough,
but YOU should not admit it. ;"
Mile pardons, mademoiselle," he
mutters, hurriedly.
Il am very good tonight" she says,
putting her hand on his mechanically
extended arm. Though the waltz is
half over, there is still time for you to
get me an ice. :"
SO they make their way through the
salon, she talking lightly and without
pausing for reply, while he, vaguely
grateful to her for extricating him from
an awkward position, wonders also that
she should care to be so kind to man
whom her sister had treated with such
marked dislike.
The refreshment room is almost
empty, and she seats herself and mo-
tions him to chair beside her, when he
has brought her an ice.
''Do you think. M. le Marquis, that
it was only to eat ices with you that [
have forced my society SO resolutely
upon you?" she asks, with a look of
earnestness very rare on her bright CO.
quettish face.
Il think you an angel of compassion
to an old friend of your childhood, Mile.
at was compassion, but more for
my sister than for you." she says grave
ly.
s.Your sisterr' he echoes, bitterly.
at has not occurred to me that Nine.
de Miramon is in need of compassion,
and yours is too sweet to be wasted
s.Chut, monsieur" she interrupted.
Forget that | am as fond of pretty
speeches as most young women, and
think of me only as Jeanne de Mira
mons sister, who believes that much
as she loves her, you love her even
For the second time this evening De
Palissier forgets possible observers,
and clasps both the girls slender hands
in his, as he murmurs unsteadily, ''God
bless you!''
You forget that we have an audi
ence, monsieur" she says, withdraw
ing her hands quickly, but with smile
of frank comradeship. Il have story
to tell you and not much time to tell it
in. Years ago, when Jeanne left her
convent on becoming tiancee to M. de
Miramon. she met you at her first ball,
and you loved each other. 1t was very
foolish, for you were a cadet of your
house, and only sous-lieutenant, and
Jeanne had not sou, so both the fam
lies were fnrinus. hut all would have