Pawtucket tribune. (Pawtucket, R.I.) 1890-189?, 1894-02-19

The Comtesse de i'Ile dor was perhaps
the most beautiful woman In Paris. She
had everything to make her life happy.
Her husband adored her and trusted her
implicitly. He gave her freedom that
he knew she would not abuse, and he took
pride In her social triumphs. She had
few enemies. Her manners were sweet
and pleasing, and her position was far too
secure for any jealousy on her own part.
She was not vain-the really beautiful are
seldom so, and IL her triumphs wsre nec-
essary to her life AZ the air of heaven at
least they were brilliant and great. She
made the art Of being beautiful her whole
study. II became to her an absorbing In
terest, and admiration was to her as food
and drink. Nature had lavishly lowered
her with charms. Her eyes, blue as the
sea, were the inspiration of the young po-
cts of the capital; her lips were ideal, IL
was said; her teeth were perfect, and her
head the head Of q goddess. Small won
der perhaps that she should devote her
soul to the worship of herself. Every one
encouraged her. The very people knew
her, and as she drove she heard sometimes
their words: "V'la la belle Comtessel"
"V'la Ia Venus de Parisl''
On her thirtieth birthday a great terror
came into her life and would not be still
ed. Night and day 1t haunted her. 1t
came to her like specter and stood for
ever before her, and sometimes IL sat like
ice upon her heart.
A well known figure In Partisan society
of the time was certain veteran, the
Marechal Boutigny.
He was grim and sinister. He spoke Of
ten to Nine. la Comtesse of the great beau
ty Of his own day. the famous Aurelie de
Frontignac.
"She Is dead, Is she notf" said she, one
night.
"To the world, Nine. Ia Comtesse."
"She lives, thenl She must be TO-"
Madame shuddered. A certain pallor
teak her face, and NJ. lie Marechal gave his
grim laugh.
"Without doubt" he said.
"She was very beautifully" she asked
later, seeming fascinated by the subject.
He saw once more the whiteness of her
face, and he smiled. She shuddered again.
M. le Marechal seemed in league with the
devil that haunted her.
Eyes, madame" he said.
There was silence, and then she persist.
ed:
"More beautiful than If'
"Nay, that were impossible" he said,
with grim gallantry.
The cold fear at her heart goaded her
on.
"As beautifully"
"Mme. la Comtesse will pardon her."
he said. "Aurelie de Frontignao was as
beautiful"
She moved away then and sought out
an old woman, the Duchesse d'Avignon.
This lady was 80, and her memory was
fresh and true.
She received the countess with open arms
and a ready compliment.
"Flatteuse," said the countess playful
ly, do not deserve that. You must have
seen women fairer than I-Aurelie de
Frontignao, for example,"
"Ah, abe was beautiful" cried the old
woman. "Yes, my dear, you have had
one rival within my memory"
Then the countess knew what she wish
ed to know, and she passed on to her hus-
band: al am little tired, Jules. wish
to go home"
In certain village called Arbisson, not
many miles from Paris, stood big square
house within walls. The great gates were
kept firmly barred, and all oommunica-
tion with the outside world was carried
on through a little side door. In the neg
lected garden old world flowers managed
to grow in rich disorder Theg golden mar
igolds had sown themselves till In the
course Of years they had become flaming
sea, whose warm yellow was only height
ened In tone by contrast with the paler
tint of the huge sunfowers that stood.l like
ssntinels above. Ivies and creepers grew
on the house itself, and wild convolvulus
bound the trees.
The people of the village had long since
lost their curiosity as to the woman who
lived her lonely life within those walls.
Thirty years ago the house had been sud
denly bought, and lady and two serv-
ants had taken up their abode there, and
had since lived quietly on. For 10 years
the lady never left the grounds Old Pierre
Roget, the notary, had happened to be
passing when the occupants arrived, and
the word had gone round that the lady
was very eautiful-"Comme un reve,"
he had said.
But at the end of those 10 years Il was
a faded and gray haired woman who be-
gan to take her solitary walks. The notary
had gone to his rest, and his words were
forgotten.
uOb dfis, Wills
knew little Of the life of the great city,
and faces that were known in the capital
as the bust on penny Is known might
pass through the street Of Arbisson unrec-
ognized. Still the cure said that the sim
gle visitor who, perhaps once In year or
two, called at the old house and was ad
mitted, was, he thought, the famous Mar
eohal Boutigny, of whom they had all
heard. The servants told nothing, and
madame was hereto and did not attend
mass, so that the cure had no more claim
to admittance to her house than any Of
the other inhabitants of the village, and
could boast no more knowledge Of her than
they. He could only surmise that she was
come one of Importance who wished to
hide herself from the world.
There arrived one day in Arbisson o
very smart carriage. The coachman drove
through the village, looking about him an
one who seeks landmarks, and finally drew
up before the gates of the old house. Here
the occupant Of the carriage, a lady close
ly veiled and in a long cloak, alighted.
She sought the little door In the wall and
rang, and after an interval she was ad-
mitted.
It was the Comtesse de Tile dor who