The Monitor-register., 1897-03-12
THE HIGHEST BIDDER.

ANAOHN 90 oh OuO u6 udu
lived long 10 this country, and had
acquired taste for the Belgian arts that
seemed almost native, and that made him
something of collector. The sale at
the rooms was to be very similar to a
sale at Sotheby's and the catalogue
referred to original manuscripts and first
editions, and to hundred things loved
by the curioso. My friend was present
in the hope of securing some early en-
cravings, aud l was with him as part of
the ldleness of holiday. We were
early, and while waiting the time of the
sale we looked together at the catalogue,
and he entertained me with talk of this
and that entry.
"This number should be interesting. "
he said, pointing to line on the first
page, ''the love letters of Outline, our
poet of love. Keats letters, you remem-
Der, were sold in London not long ago,
and one of your se.makers wrote a
iamenting sonnet. Outline was not so
great poet as Keats. but his passion for
Jetta Teterol was as wildly spoken as the
others for Fanny Brawne. Your verse
maker was right; it is hard that because
man has given part of his soul to the
world the world should want the whole.
But the curious are innocent of modesty ;
and-yes, the number should be interest
ing"
There will be a Fl ght for the letters,
you think ?'' l. said.
"Yes, probably. Outline has some
thing of vogue just now. The women
are discovering that he wrote as in their
best hours they think. And indeed it
was tender, womanly muse. The little
man standing by the table-him with the
glasses, l mean-will, think, get them.
He is professor at the university, and
doubtless meditates an article iu one of
the reviews. Himself ithout sentiment
he will criticize their sentiment. Already
he has written more than one unkind
thing about the Outline morals; the let
ters will give him yet new text"
For moment or two 1 looked at the
professors hard, thin face, and sympa-
thized with the dead poet; then, as the
auctioneer mounted to his place and
commenced the days sale, l turned my
eyes to one and another in the room.
Mostly the crowd was of men, dealers or
chance buyers, but here and there were
women with the usual catalogue and
pencil, and among them was one whose
dress and manner interested me even to
curiosity. Near to us she stood. i'm
patiently buttoning and unbuttoning a
glove, and sa W that she was pretty, but
somewhat too we'll dressed, aud some.
what too freely ieweled.
do you know" l asked my friend,
"who is the girl to our right?"
He looked and slightly shrugged his
shoulders, and said: "Yes, she is Marie
Carbara, one of the actresses at the new
theater. She is only minor actress, but
you see her cloak and the brooch clasp
ing it. They are all alike, these pretty
singers and dancers; all love the sunshine
and the butterfly life. What brings
Marie here l do not know, nor what
makes her so angry with her glove. The
boudoir wants picture, perhaps. That
was very little for the Louis vases Alb,
here are the Outline letters they will fetch
more"
The auctioneer spoke of the poet, and
of bis love for Jetta Teterol, and of his
writings to her; again looked about the
room to one and another. Many seemed
little interested in the bundle of yellow
sheets, but few seemed likely bidders.
The professor was listening to the
auctioneer's words and smiling as one
amused; other men, who knew less than
the professor, were listening with more
humility; the girl Marie had ceased to
play with her glove, and held one band
lightly in the other. At the girl looked
longer than at the men; she had an
earuestness of expression that was pretty
to see, an earnestness thai presently gave
me an idea.
cit is not picture that has brought
Mademoiselle Carbara here" l said to
my friend; 'it is these letters. Look at
her,
''She is certainly concerned for them;
perhaps you are right" he replied. Gas
l said, the women are beginning to read
and to love Outline; and-yes, perhaps
you are right. Still, my man speaks
first, and he is not likely to give in.''
The profess or moved his glasses for
ward little and said ''Ten francs." and
the bidding commenced. Twenty"
said the girl Marie, and l noticed the
pleasantness of her voice, and was glad
my idea had not been wrong. "Thirty,"
said man to my left; Thirty" replied
the auctioneer.
"Yes, it is fl ght," said my friend, as
ten by ten the offer rose, "but between
our two people only. The other is an
agent, and will presently reach his limit;
iuuGOuy diLOduy nO oOCuIo w hoNO hOoOhOu
it,"
1.-TWO hundred" said the girl. "And
ten," said the professor. 1.-TWO hundred
and fifty" said the girl, her cheeks flush.
ing a little. "Three hundred" said the
professor, his mouth hardening.
The third bi oder had become silent,
and the fight was now clearly between
the two. At the end of table the girl
stood, looking earnestly to the auotioneer
and the bundle of letters before him; at
the other the man, looking angrily at the
girl. Within me was hope that she,
and not he, would be the last to speak.
"Four hundred"
"Five hundred"
"Six hundred"
There was a movement of interest In
the room. The offers were not large-a
picture had just before been sold for