Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1890-11-01
CHAPTER II.

| CHAPrER IL
Scarcely had Count dAthis been ushored
into AureIie's presence when the thought
fitted through his mind that he had forgotten
to destroy the little sheet OF rose-tinted paper
upon which Madenoiselle de Seychelles had
traced her message; nay more. that he had
even careiessly flung the coat containing it upon
| the sofa in his work room. It required all OF
the music of Aurelie's voice aided by the
| seductive charm of her manner to keep dAthis
| for q brief half hour by her side. In vain did
she labor, book in hand, to fasten his attention
upon the newly discovered pearls OF thought
in the iimpid stream of his verse; The poets
thoughts were elsewhere. He only seemed to
listen and the stammered words Of thanks had
| a dry and hollow sound. Mademoselle de
Seychelles was in despair. She dreaded to con-
| front her patroness again with the now oft-re-
peated report that the poet had proven deaf
to all her wiles, that he had snapped like Irvine
| the strongest web which her potent art had
been able to weave about him.
| As the tiny sheet of rose-tinted paper,
| crumpled and tear stained, met the poets gaze
| he sank with groan in his chair and his head
fell forward upon bis desk. He knew the wild
and hayward child Of nature only too we'll
! even to deem it necessary to open the door and
satisfy himself that she had fled. His poetic
/ instinct, intensely impressionable and per-
| ceptlve, told him ALL 1t whispered to him
''She has fed! Irma has fedv
But one thought came to Count Charles to
| temper his grief, and it was that 1rma had a
| sure and safe asylum toward which to turn her
| face, namely, tho cottage Of the old poacher on
| the edge of Rambouillet forest, where a tender
and affectionate welcome would fall to the
share OF the beautiful prodigal when she
| came timidly to lift the latch and advance to
| the wide-open fireplace, where her old father
| was wont to sit and smoke his pipe in order to
place the baby viBcount on his knees.
m ho for
| little Robert For already wondrous tales Of
| granps Sales home ON the edge OF Rambouil-
| let forest, where white pigeons circle around
| his head, fowl eat out OF his hands and little
| danced through the child's head until he dis
coursed upon ''what they did at grandpa
| SalIe's," as if it was all known to him from
actual observation.
But great as had been the countess dowager's
| chasrln at Aurelie's failure to make success
| full assault upon the poets heart on that fatal
| night her alarm was even greater when she
learned OF lrma's fight. 1t complicated mat
tiers terribly. Tor following as ii did 80 closely
upon the heels Of Aurelies failure it might
ensiy have the effect Of precipitating q crisis
and ending forever all her hopes of q union
| between her son and Madsmoisells de Sey-
chelles.
Hence madame the countess dowager recog-
| nized the Importance Of an immediate change
of attitude. and summOning her son, she spoke
that they should pay visit to an old friend
whose villa was situated at Rambouillet, so
that he might be near Robert. OF Aurelie
there was no mention made. and Count Charles
hastened to accept his mothers suggestion,
and the next day he had the sweet satisfact ton
OF ciasping little Robert in his arms and Of
| finding him rosy and happy in the old poach-
ers home, OF the wonders OF which he had
dreamed SO long.
I'VE shall not get SO many eggs" said the
old peasant laughingly. as the baby viscount in
velvet and silk scattered the fowls to the right
and left in his mad gambols, "but those we do
get will taste better"
A warm pressure Of the poets white and
aristocratic hand upon Father Salle's horny
knuckles thanked him for that touch of human
ity so quantity and charmingly evidenced.
Irma met Count Charles with a smile full Of
the old-time sweetness. In it was hope min
gied WITH forgiveness and 30 grandly noble and
womanly was the bearing Of this Greek girl,
whose Partisan gown could not wholly conceal
the native grace of her carriage, that the poet
gazed upon her with feelings akin to awe. He
felt lis soul lifted up as he took her han and
pressed ii respectfully to his lips II Irma had
any resentment in her heart 1t vanished a. she
fixed her lustrous dark eyes upon Count d. this'
face and saw the suffering visible beneath the
affected calmuess.
Poor boy! Poor boyw she murmured,
slowly and softly, and then each turned away
from the other, Irma to SO to the little cham
Der beneath the tiled roof, where. as a happy
girl, she had sat at her mothers feet and
learned to knit and sew; Charles, Count Of
Athis-Mons, to return to the beautiful villa.
where he found his mother accompanied by
Mademoiselle de Seychelles, strolling in the
garden. He avoided them, however, and pass
ing up the stairway to his room, closed the
door after he had rung for q servant and sent
word to his mother that his work would pre-
vent his appearance at dinner.
The countess dowager made one or two visits
to Father Sales to see little Robert, who en-
tertained her with delightful stories about
Grandpa Salle's wonderful home and what it
contained. indoors and out.
"Ah, Grandma dAthis. this beats Paris"
cried the boy, his cherub face illumined with
celestial radiance; II want to live here for
ever. But just wait, grandma, until next week.
Grandpa Sale and are going to have q brood
of ducklings with hen for a mother. Think
of it, dear grandma; won't 1t be royal fun to
| see them frighten their old mother by going
| into the pond for swim? Butts very naughty
| to brighten ones mamma. Isn't it, grandma?
would rather die than frighten poor, dear
mamma"
The old peasant dashed tear from his cheek
as he nodded confdentially to the countess
| dowager.
"Ah, these little ones touch our old hearts,
don't they, countess?" said he, az he knocked
the ashes from his pipe.
will you not go back to Paris with me
soon, lrma! asked Count Charles, timidly, one
| day.
The old smile so sweet and sad came back
| and played around her beautiful mouth ss she
shook her head mournfully.
Not now, mon ami" said she quietly.
'Robert is very happy here with Grandpa
| Sale. He grows 80 strong and rosy in the sun
shine. 1t would be q shame to take him back
! to gloomy Paris"
A shadow passed over the poets face at
these words.
Yes, Count d'Athis." exclaimed the old
peasant. Trina is right; city is no place for
child. City children are hot-house plants.
They have no strength. never slept but one
| night IN Paris, and gasped for air the whole
| BILE that you people have two lungs"
| In gentle but withal decided manner Irma
| now entered q protest against the countess
| dowager's visits to the little cottage She
| called Charles attention to the fact that her
| retirement to her room upon Nine. d'Aths'
| arrival was noticed by Robert, and that the
child was perplexed and hurt by it. 1t was
| incomprehensible to him why his mother
should not be present to talk with his dear,
kind grandma" who always came loaded with
presents
Charles was quick to appreciate the point
| made by Irma, and he expressed in tender
words his deep regret that he had not saved
her from this uncallsd-for humiliation Hence
l forth Robert must be taken to the countess
| dowager-a decision which filed that lady with
| grief and anxiety. for the villa was nearly a
mile away, and even with the best intentions
on Irma's part it would often happen that the
| visit must needs be postponed, the weather
| would change suddenly or little Robert would
have cold or be some way ailing. The result
Il n ~ Al