The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1889-04-03
as they said, but they never painted my

clo:e. The atmosphere had the soft
delicate toGes which had delighted
Maurice on tic previous evening, auo
his work advanced rapidly.
lie painted on the picture afterwaEd
in his studio. lie determined to make
it his best work. Being already well
known, it was no longer necessary Tor
him to seek to make 4 name, neVerthe-
less he was certain that this picture
would set the seal on his reputation.
Bv the time he had finished the pct
ure to his satisfaction, winter had come
and Maurice was in love with his little
model.
lie loved her too much to tell her of
his love, too much to tear from her ma
tive meadow this flower of maidenhood
whom he could not make his wife, but
enough to suffer at the thought OF part
ing from her. She had naught that
goes to the making of happiness in
life, neither depth of sentiment, nor de-
vot:on which makes one forget all else,
nor passion which excuses all things; she
was simply pretty flower of the field, a
little vaia, little coquettish, without
either grave faults or great virtues.
Maurice knew that she could be nothing
to him, yet he adored the beautiful out
lines of her scarcely developed form,
which the folds of her coarse gown
chastely enveloped yet could not all con-
ceal. He loved those deep eyes, that
smiling mouth. those yellow tresses,
always in disorder. the little handker-
chief that crossed her bosom; and these
he loved, and it was with pain he thought
of parting from them. One always parts
| with pain from what he expects never
again to see. 1t is so hard to leave be-
| hind one bit of ones life that he has no
right to keep.
He had carried off her picture, how
ever, and before this be passed the best
hours of the winter, ceaselessly laborlng
to perfect work already perfect.
The painting was greatly admired.
The critics were unanimous IN their en-
thusiasm. but they declared that such
face could not exist except in the mind
of a poet or in tie ina yination of a
painter Maurice listened to all this
with a smile and kept to himself the
secret OF the sweet face that had inspired
him.
He received fattering offers for his
picture; none of his previous paintings
had commanded so high prlce; he de-
clined to sell it; he also refused to al
low it to be engraved. AS he was un-
able to possess the model Of the picture
he was determined to keep the latter.
II was autumn when he returned to
the village where he had met the little
maid with the yellow hair. Since he
had painted her portrait, twice had the
bon6res of Saint Johns Eve seen the
bands of joyous peasants dancing about
them, and as he thought of the young
girl he smiled sadly, wondering which
of the village young men had made her
his choice.
His first pilgrimage was to the forest
of chestnuts. AS darkness comes quickly
on October evenings, he fastened along
the forest walk; but it was not yet dark,
and rays of amber light still traversed
the forest, falling upon the leaves that
trembled on their branches and upon
those that rustlcd under his feet. With
the odor cf dead leaves came thousand
regrets, sorrowful memories and bitter
thoughts which filled him with un-
speaEable sadness, with a greater dis
taste for life than he had ever before
experienced.
When he reached the glade ne seated
himself in the same place where two
years before he had sketched the plct-
ure which had crowned his fame. The
cold stone on which he sat seemed to
mock all his tender feelings.
While he sat and mused, he saw ap.
preaching him. over the well-known
path, the girl who had been his model
now large young woman. She was
not alone; a peasant walked beside her,
holding her by the hand he was hand.
some fellow, strong and we'll built, and
well-to do for one of his class. He
leaned toward her, and from time to
time kissed tear from her cheek.
When they saw Maurice they paused,
confused and surprised.
"And this" he thought, 'is the girl
of whom l have dreamed"
"But he took pity on her when, in
voice of sighs, she said to him:
"They do not wish us to marry. I
am poor, he is well Off and his mother
does not want me for daughter-i n-law;
she even talks of disinheriting him."
"And you, you do not wish to be dis
inherited?" Maurice said ironically to
the young man.
'Why, one must live"
''That is true. am sorry for you, my
children"
They departed. Maurice, when left to
himself, took his head between his hands
and thought for long time.
His ideal was destroyed. In this
young peasant woman, still handsome,
but about to develope into common
place matron, naught remained of his
pretty model with the yellow hair.
''Thus it is with our Dreams" he said,
as he arose. GAIL that remains is the
opportunity of doing little good"
He wrote to Paris that same evening.
and few days afterward he presented
himself at the house of the young
woman.
81 have sold your portrait" he said to
her, in the presence os her astonished
mother. "It has brought large price,
indeed little fortune. have brought
the money to you, in order that you may
marry your lover. ."-NeW York Ep0et.
The WashinotOn Far