Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1886-09-06

no COLONEL How can you imagine
such conduct, You have evidently poor
opinion of girls. l went on painting,
wretchedly, for an hour or so; getting
that poor Madonna bluer and bluer with
every touch of the brush, and just as 1
was beginning to despair of her, the young
Frenchman came over to me, and asked
me if would allow him to give me few
more hints upon coloring and harmony,
and so on. neither said yes nor no, only
murmuring vaguely, like shy simpleton
as | was. He seemed to think this gave
him full permission, and he took the
picture in hand, and told me how had
gone wrong, and showed me what to do.
This was the beginning of our friendship,
which came about very gradually. almost
unawares: but in fortnight's time we
were friends. We did not talk much.
That would have been impossible in
a public room, aud under the eye
of Mademoiselle Bouge; but he used TO
contrive to give me letter every time we
met, and he was wonderfully clever at
slipping the letter under my color-box, or
into my hand, without poor old Bouge see
ing him"
"He had done the same kind of thing
very often before, no doubt"
not like your usual kindness. No, he told
me, in his very first letter, that he had
never been really in love before"
"They never have" muttered the colonel.
@He wrote the loveliest letters"
"And you answered them?
II was obliged to answer sometimes. l
hardly knew how wrong it was. You see
had been brought up in place where l
knew everybody and had no idea of be-
ing afraid of strangers. | told him who l
was. and how was finishing my educa-
ton at Madame Sartoris, and he told me
his own history, and that he was an orphan
quite alone in the world, and that he be-
longed to good old Burgundian family,
and that he had come to Paris to study
art"
"a regular Bohemian no doubt"
"You ought not to say that, godfather
He always looked like gentleman, though
his clothes were shabby. And though he
lived on the left side of the Seine, in the
students quarter, his manners were per-
feet"
"And his name. He had name, sup
pose"
"His name is Victor de Camillac." an
swered Grace, with dignity; "and am en-
gagged to him"
Really and truly engaged to him? That
is carrying things rather far with young
man with whom you only exchanged a
few words about painting, and half dozen
surreptitious love-letters."
"There were great many more than half
q Dozen" answered Grace; she wrote vol
umes. He gave me letter every time l
went to the Louvre-such clever letters,
so eloquent, so poetical."
Il know the kind of thing. He is one of
those men with whom letter-writing is
a complaint" said the colonel Your
dragon, Mrs. Bouge, must have been
very sleepy parsonage to have had no sus-
picion of what was going on under her
nose"
"Oh, she had her suspicious poor soul,
but persuaded her to keep my secret. l
blush to say that appealed to her meanest
instincts"
"As hoy?"
"You Know the confectionery at the
corner of the Rue Castiglione?"
"No"
"Don't you? How pity you'll 1t is one
of the best-I believe it is the best con-
fectioner's in Paris. l used to take Bouge
there every afternoon when we left the
Louvre. Now, dear used to say, take
whatever you fancy and the poor soul
used to revel in cellars and choux and
brooches and meringues and red currant
syrup to an alarming extent"
"How she must have missed you when
you left school," said the colonel, laughing.
He could not bring himself to be very
angry with his goddaughter for this folly
of hers; nor could he think very seriously
of this interchange of love-letters with a
shabby genteel Frenchman. The whole
business seemed, at the first blush, too
foolish for grave consideration; and yet on
reflection Col. Stukely told himself that it
was kind of folly which might entail
considerable consequences. Very disa-
greeable if the young man were scamp;
and the circumstances favored that in
ference.
And do you mean to say, Oracle" he
began, after pause "that you have en-
gagged yourself. in black and white, to
man of whose surroundings and anteced-
ents you knew absolutely nothing?"
Il knew everything" she answered, in
dignantly. "Victor told me his whole
history. He was thoroughly frank He
confessed that he had only just enough to
live upon, poorly, and in a poor quarter
His father had been ruined by the Mexican
his money into bonds. When his
father died, Victor came to Paris
to study art, in the hope of becom-
ing distinguished painter, like Meis-
sonier or Vidal If l would promise to
marry him, he told me he should have a
new incentive to industry, perseverance,
patience-the hottest and purest incen-
tive"
THAT fetched you" said the colonel, "and
you promised"
Not for months after I received that
letter. What very feeble person you
must think me, colonel
81 think you an adorable little goose.n
said her godfather"
81 don't think | should have consented
to engage myself to him." pursued Grace,
only one day l missed him in the room
where he and | had both been working
"Still at your Guido2"
"Oh, no. had gone into another room.
and was copying a flower piece Victor
advised me to paint flowers and fruit and
things-dead nature, as he called them
rather than Italian Madonnas. One day
he was missing, and the next time, and
the next had not seen him for week.
felt sure that he must be i'll. was very
unhappy about him; haunted by the i'm
age of his poor pale face. At the end of a
week he wrote me, under cover to Mad
emoiselle Bouge, who brought me the
letter to my room, with fearful counten-
ance, and told me that it might have
been the ruin of her to receive it, which
was sheer nonsense, as even Madame Sar-
torl's sharp eye could not read the inside
of thick envelope"
The letter told you he was dying, 1 pre-
sumo said the colonel.