The Southern herald., 1899-09-01
A DANAE in SABOTS.
RIVE to the Bois." /"

KlNE TO the BOls,
ID The English coachman knew
by the way his master slammed the
door Of the coupe that the world did
not Vag well with hiR.
Henry Duval leaned back on the seat
and bnpatiently slapped his gloves on
his knee, staring bankly out Of the
window as the carriage rolled down
the broad avenue, gay with equipages
and pedestrians. Ordinarily he would
have noted each riders skill, and even
the clothes he wore, and would have
had a smile for every woman of his ac-
quaintance, but this morning he was
overshadowed by a sense of defeat, at
which he was as much surprised as CON
founded.
To think that il was only yesterday
"a few fleeting hours ago-that he
held his head high among his con-
freres, and nowl What mattered it if
all Paris still echoed bravo when She
had criticised his "Danae," u picture
that had aroused the envy and enthusi-
asm of the artistic world?
In vain he sought to forget her
words, to cry out that one foolish wom-
ans judgment could not count against
the public praise which he had reaped
aS his just reward after years of work.
The reason for her criticism is what
stung him most. Her words still rang
in his ears:
you fail, Henri, in achieving tie
highest you depict the body, and not
the soul. This Danae is beautiful flesh
and blood, but the charm of the allie
CORY is lost. The beauty that wins u
divinity should possess an inspiration
beyond that born of flesh tints and
curves. 1t is this lack, mon ami, that
makes me ice to your flame. My late
husband was a brutal sensualist; you
have dimly outlined my years of pen
unce with him. You are a refined sem
suaist; you would not throw your
boots at my head in drunken frenzy,
or parade your mistress before me in
public, but your nature lacks the IDEAL
ity need now more than ever. You
plead your old friendship as sure
precursor of unending love. Alack.
Henri, the boy | once played with has
vanished, never to return. Around the
man | now know cling affeetionate
memories of the past, but he is not
to me the possibility of faithful
spouse for the future. Unless you can
prove to me that your fortune has not
degraded your art, that in luxurious
life you rise above yourself, above sell
lshness, we cannot be one in either
thought or heart. When | see can
vas signed by you bearing the imprint
of noble soul, as well as trained eye
and skilled hand, then, Henri, 1 may lis
ten to your ardent wooing."
He could see her as she stood beside
him, calm and thoughtful, her hand
resting for a moment upon his arm,
yet with an impalpable something
separating her utterly from him. 1t
brought little solace TO his soul to
know that ten years before, if he had
but spoken to the fair girl he knew
so well, she might have been his; be-
fore her parents had hurried her into
the marriage with that rich old count,
whose death at last was the sole COM
fort his wife ever derived from her
marriage with him.
Henri Duval had loved the maiden
well, but the young wife better, though
her irreproachable life shielded her
from even an attempt on his part TO
express his devotion. So he dreamt his
dreams and lived his easy life, reserv-
ing always, In the depths Of his being,
pure place for her image. while his
daily encourage was favored with the
bohemia OF art and Partisan youth. His
plsbeian grandfather had amassed a
fortune and the marriage of bis father
with the penniless daughter Of duke