The morning news. [volume] (Savannah, Ga.) 1887-1900, 1891-08-06
/ TOLD BY A WOMAN.
,9AGuENr OF a LOVE STORY
PICKED UP IN PARIS.

me of Alphonse Daudet's Artists
TU;veg."-che Tender and Pathetic
little Romance Which IS True to
Lr+ists' lives es to the Heart of a De-
voted Woman.
From the NeiU York Press
What it has cost me to marry an artist!
nv dear! If had known! But young
.Is have singular ideas about so many
,sngs. Just imagine that at the exhibit
sr when read 10 the catalogue the ad-
5-eqses Of far away. quiet streets at the fur
.ssr end OF Paris, l pictured to myself
,.eceable, stay-at-home lives, devoted to
a-rs and the family circle, and 1 said to
uvself feeling beforehand a certainty
hat should be dreadfully Jeal-
ann. THAT is the sort of husba nd
~ suit me. He will always be with
ns We shall spend our days together; he
=, his picture or sculpture, while read or
a"v beside him in the concentrated light OF
ne studio" Poor dear innocent! l had not
.5e faintest idea then what a studio really
vas nor Of the singular creatures one meets
t6ers Never, in gazing at those bold, I'M
5Iessad Qoddesses, had the idea occurred TO
ma that there were women daring enough
that even | myself. Otherwise, | can
assure YOU, should never have married
ssc1jntor. No, indeed, most decidedly not
7 must own, they were all against this
marriage at home; notwithstanding my
hsbands fortune, his already famous
name and the fine house he was having
bnilt for us two. 1t was | alone who
wonld have 1t 80. He was so elegant, so
I
he meddled little too much about my
dress and the arrangement of my hair
"Do your hair like this, So" and he would
smuse himself by placing flower in the
midst of my curls with far greater skill
than any of our millinerS So much ex-
nerience in man was alarming, wasn't it9
fought to have distrusted him. Well, you
will see. Listen.
We returned from our honeymoon. While
Twas busy settling myself in my pretty and
cLarlniugly furnished rooms, that paradise
YOU know so well, my husband, from the
moment of his arrival, mad set to work and
geat the days at his studio. which was
away from the house. When he returned
in the evening he would talk to me with
feye ish eagerness of his next subject for
exhibition. The subject was: "A Roman
LADY Leaving the Baih,n He wanted the
marble 10 reproduce that faint shiver of the
sin at the contact of air, the
r,oisture Of the delicate textu es cllnging to
tie suoui iers, and all sorts Of other fine
things which [ no longer remember. Be-
tween YOU aud me, when he speaks to me
ID N, sculpture | do not always understand
m cry we'll. However. l used to say
Z rde, fly: 1T will be very pretty" and
ally l saw myself treading the finely
s Eel walks edmiring my husbands
Il ~lAt Ia IlrNftr I.a,,,
j hite against the green haugiugs;
70 lie behind me l heard whispered: 1.-The
WHO IT the sculptor"
At last one dey, curious to see how our
Roman lady was getting on, the idea oc-
cured to me TO go a. take him by surprise
in his studio, which | had not yet visited.
i as one of he first times | had gone ou6
alone, and had made myself very smart, |
ran tell you. When | arrived l found the
door Of the little garden leading to the
ground floor wide open. SO | walked
straight in, and, conceive my Indignation,
when l beheld my husband in white
mock, like a stone mason, with rutIled
lair, hands grimmed with clay, and in front
# him, upright on a platform, a woman,
ny dear, great creature, almost undressed,
I'D looking just as composed In this airy
,ostume as though it were perfectly natural
Ter wretched clothes covered with
mud, thick walking boots and round hat
trimmed with "a feather out of curl, were
brown beside her on a chair. All this
aw in an instant, for you may imagine
ow fed. Etienne would have spoken to
me; but with a gesture of
orror at the ciay-covered hands | rushed
If to mamma, and reached her barely
live. You can imagine my appearance.
"Good heavens, dear child! what is the
natterr
| related to mamma what | had seen,
where this dreadful won an was and in
What costume. And | cried aud cried. My
mother, much moved, tried to console me,
Explained to me that it must have been
model.
What! but it is abominable, no one ever
old me about that before | was marriedw
Hereupon Etieune arrived, greatly dis
ressed, and tried in his turn to make me I'M
lerstand that model is not a woman like
ther women, and that besides sculptors
annot get on without them; but these rea-
ous had no effect upon me, and | stoutly
declared would have nothing TO do with a
husband who spent his days tete-a-tete with
voung ladies il such costume.
Come, my dear Etienne," said poor
mamma, trying hard to arrange everything
could you not out of respect for
'our wife's feelings replace this creature by
! dummy, lay hgure?"
My husband bit his mustache furiouslY.
Quite impossible, dear mother"
"Stlll, my dear, it seems to me-a bright
dea9 milliners have pasteboard heads on
which they trim bonnets. Well, what can
lie done for head, could it not be done
or-Y' 1t seems this is not possible. At
*From "Artists' Wives. Published by Rout-
edge.
east this was what Etienne tried to demon
trate at great length with all sorts Of de-
ails and technical words. He really looked
lery unhappy. l watched him out of the
he corner of my eye while l dried my
ears aDd I saw that NV uriaf affactad